


Mission Six

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [9]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 19:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17566286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: The atmosphere between Face and BA remains decidedly frosty as the team set out on their sixth mission together, although it soon becomes clear that they will only succeed if they, first, find some trust.





	Mission Six

 

BA pounded down the dusty street, bright sun and shimmering blue sky reflecting off the white buildings, making him squint as he skidded around a tight corner, hearing the clamouring yells of his pursuers behind him. It was rotten bad luck that he’d been spotted, the way he’d walked around that corner and straight into the guy he’d laid out not half an hour before, who could have planned for that? And he’d thought he was home and dry as well, the hardest part of the mission done, all he’d needed to do was meet up with Face and then they would have been able to get the hell out of there.

 

He leapt down a flight of steps, stumbling a little as he landed and skidded around yet another corner. He was supposed to be meeting Face at the West gate and so that was the direction he was running in, hoping to hell that the pretty boy had his head out from up his ass and was prepared enough to help BA out of this mess he’d found himself in. But then, BA scowled, knowing Face, he was probably chatting up some woman, or man, or camel; he wouldn’t put anything past the guy, his moral standards being, in BA’s opinion anyway, dangerously low.

 

A bullet hitting the wall in front of him yanked his thoughts away from Face and back to his own mortality and he jagged sharply to the left, heading for a busy looking market square, hoping to lose himself in the crowds and the mêlée. It was a mistake. The second he got into what looked like a decent sized open space he realised that there were too many people, too many cows, goats, chickens, street kids, barrels, stalls, wagons, dogs and he could hardly move, never mind run.

 

The shout went up behind him and instantly almost every person stopped to stare at him, he smiled as disarmingly as he could, but no one smiled back and in a second they were upon him, hands and fists and feet knocking into him, dragging him down until he was face first in the dusty square, hands dragged behind his back and tied there.

 

Great. He thought as he was hauled to his feet and pulled towards a dark archway, captured right at the end of the mission with only the pretty boy there to back him up. He realised that he’d almost made it as well, was right there at the West gate. He strained his neck to see over the mass of heads, everyone in the same white headdress, but he couldn’t see Face. He shook his head in resignation, of course Face wasn’t there, might have known the damn LT wouldn’t have his back. Now he was well and truly in the shit.

 

 _Four days previously..._    

 

Hannibal looked at his watch, there were still another six hours of flying time left, he really ought to relax and try and get some sleep, but watching his boys, listening to their banter, was too distracting and altogether too absorbing, and not entirely for the right reasons. They were on their way back to Benning from training exercises up in Alaska, and had been recalled urgently, Morrison had told him there was a crisis, a critical situation that needed their attention.

 

He looked around the cabin of the plane that had been sent up to retrieve them and frowned when his eyes landed on his corporal. BA was concerning him; it seemed that with every single flight they took he was getting more and more tense. It was almost eight months since Mexico, eight months since BA had almost fallen to his death from the open door of that chopper. Hannibal shook his head, he still couldn’t understand why neither he nor Face had thought to wear a lap belt, or even close the door. If it hadn’t been for BA’s vice-like grip and Face having the strength to haul him back in, he’d have been a goner. But now, when BA should actually be getting over the whole reluctant to fly thing, he just seemed to be getting worse.

 

He was sat bolt upright in his chair, hands tight on the arm rests, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him with wide, hardly blinking eyes. Hannibal shook his head, not good.

 

A laugh from the other side of the plane caught his attention and he tore his eyes from BA to watch Face and Murdock as they played cards. On the surface, Face had recovered well both from the horrendous mission to Russia and the holdup in the bar, but Hannibal knew only too intimately what lurked beneath that surface. Barely a night had gone by without Face waking up sweating, shouting, crying sometimes; dreams of Hannibal dying, Piper dying, Sasha dying, the slaughter in the Russian forest, the siege of the bar turning into a massacre, of hangings, of rapes, of never finding Hannibal again... Every nightmare was dissected, taken to pieces so it couldn’t come back to haunt him again, but there was always another one there, a queue of horrors waiting to take its place.

 

But Face was tough, he always had been and he always would be, and Hannibal knew that things would get better with time; it was his relationship with BA that was causing the most concern at the minute. Hannibal spared another glance for his corporal, who didn’t appear to have moved, or even breathed, since he last looked over. He shook his head and turned back to Face.

 

Things between the two of them were strained to say the least. There was nothing particular that Hannibal could berate them about, there was no hostility, no sledging or sniping, and that was probably part of the problem. They were always so polite to each other, formal, _cool_ and that was not good at all. If they couldn’t relax with one another, couldn’t tease and joke, then when the push came to the shove, they couldn’t function efficiently either.

 

Neither one of them had ever been straight about all that happened between them in Russia, and Hannibal knew he couldn’t put Murdock in the middle like that, expect him to rat them both out. He knew that BA had been less than cooperative, had had issues with a lot of Face’s orders, and he suspected Face had lost his cool, allowed his emotions to rule his head, forgot that he was in charge and as such needed to behave in a certain way. Hannibal sighed, but that was his fault, he was the one who hadn’t prepared the kid for command well enough – it was a mistake he needed to put right, and he’d already started trying to do it.

 

Murdock yelled in outrage and launched himself at Face, knocking them both off their seats and onto the floor of the plane where they fought and struggled. Hannibal hardly turned a hair, he saw this day in day out, the two of them were like a pair of six year olds when they got together. Sure enough, within thirty seconds they were both giggling like crazy as Murdock, Face’s wrists held tight in one hand, was tickling his opponent mercilessly, sat astride his hips while Face bucked underneath him trying to get him off.

 

Hannibal frowned, the very edge of unreasonable jealously nudging at his bones. “Knock it off, you two,” he growled, “the pilots don’t need to listen to this crap, they’re trying to fly the plane.”

 

They both stopped, and looked over, identical expressions of hurt on their faces. “But boss,” Murdock whined, “he was _cheating!_ ”

 

Hannibal shook his head, “He always cheats, Captain, you know that.”

 

Murdock started climbing to his feet, offering a hand to pull Face up with him as Face pouted, “How could you! You know I don’t cheat if we are playing for money!”

 

“They were _jelly beans_ Faceman,” Murdock grumbled under his breath, “and in some countries, jelly beans _are_ money.”

 

Face shook his head as he dusted himself off and pulled his t-shirt back down, nodding towards the cockpit, “Hey, why don’t you head up and see if the pilots want any help?”

 

Hannibal closed his eyes briefly in anticipation of the mess he would have to sort out in about fifteen minutes, but Murdock brightened considerably and instantly made for the door to the flight deck.

 

As soon as Murdock was gone, Face flopped sideways into the seat next to Hannibal, a hand on the other man’s thigh, concern in his eyes, “Hey, boss, you okay?” 

 

Feeling a rush of shame at worrying Face when the kid had so much else on his plate at the minute, Hannibal smiled at him and dropped his own hand on top of Face’s. “Of course,” he replied, trying to sound as genuine as possible, “just need to get a bit of sleep, that’s all.”

 

Instantly, Face was on the move, lifting the armrest back, pulling blankets and cushions into place, leaning back against the window, pulling Hannibal with him, against his chest, making the boss a cosy nest. “There,” he said, his hand briefly smoothing Hannibal’s hair, “that better? I’ll set my watch alarm for an hour before land and we’ll both get a bit of rest in okay?”

 

Hannibal wanted to resist, wanted to tell Face it wasn’t really professional for them to sleep wrapped up like this when they were working. But it just felt too good, far too safe and secure. He acknowledged that maybe he was carrying his own scars from Russia, he’d had more than a few nightmares himself and having come so close to never seeing Face again, never having this incredible closeness... Maybe he was craving contact a little more than usual. In the end, he stopped fighting with his conscience and just gave up, letting the motion of the plane, the warmth of Face’s body and the hum of the engines lull him into sleep.

 

When Murdock was finally kicked off the flight deck ten minutes later he was disappointed to find one teammate almost catatonic and two wrapped up and fast asleep. He sighed and slumped in his seat, snatching up a comic book and pouring the rest of the jellybeans into his mouth. 

 

_______________________

 

Hannibal let out a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose firmly, more than aware of Russ’ bemused stare and the fact that what the General had obviously thought was wonderful news had certainly not been received as such by Hannibal.

 

“What?” he prompted, as Hannibal stayed in thoughtful silence. “What the fuck is wrong with _that_ Hannibal? This is a chance in a lifetime I’m offering here!”

 

“I know, I know,” Hannibal soothed, taking the proffered scotch and grabbing a mouthful, his mind racing away behind his carefully blank expression, “I just don’t think that everyone will see it like that – that’s all,” he eventually offered.

 

For a long moment Russ studied him, and then Hannibal could see the exact second that the General decided on the direction this conversation was about to start flowing in and he braced himself in preparation. “John,” the man’s tone was low, his gravelly voice even deeper than usual, as deep as Hannibal had heard it in years. “I know what’s going on with you and that boy you’ve got there, don’t think I don’t see it.”

 

Despite his preparation and determination to keep up that blank expression, Hannibal just couldn’t help the twitch he’d felt at the cold horror of those words. People ‘seeing’ what was really going on with him and Face could spell the end of their careers, a court martial, but even worse for Face as the junior office, it could literally get him killed by his own side... his heart began to beat far too hard against his ribs.

 

“Don’t worry,” Russ’ voice was so low now that Hannibal had to strain to hear it over the rushing in his ears, “no one else knows. It’s only because I’ve seen it before, know what I’m looking for, recognise the way you look at him...” He trailed off and for an uncomfortable minute they stared at each other, both lost in the memories of what once was.

 

“Anyway,” Morrison sat back in his seat, his voice a little louder now. “That doesn’t give you an excuse to tie him to your apron strings, Hannibal! You’ve got to cut him loose eventually – just like I did with you!”

 

Pushing unwelcome memories to the side for now, Hannibal frowned back at his commander. “No,” he said distractedly, “it’s not like that at all,” he shook his head. “You’ve got to understand, the kid’s an orphan.”

 

“I know.”

 

“He’s got no family...”

 

“He’s got you now – you can be proud of the way he’s getting on.”

 

Shaking his head in frustration at the way this conversation was going, Hannibal tried again. “But, I _am_ his family, Russ. Me, the boys, this team,” he shrugged, “it’s all he’s got!”

 

“Colonel,” Morrison started and Hannibal’s heart sank at the expression in his face just as much as at the words he’d chosen. “This is the US Army, not the fucking Widows and Orphans society. You are not his _family_ , you are his _unit_ , and as such units change. It’s called ‘progress’, Hannibal, some people even think it’s a good thing.”

 

Hannibal sighed and necked another finger of scotch down. He’d lost this conversation now, he could tell that easily, and he’d also managed to piss Russ off. Great. He should have known exactly what his thoughts on the matter would be, Russ whose wife knew he shagged anything he saw, male or female, whoever took his fancy, Russ who never even considered for half a heartbeat that he should turn down a change of posting just so that he could stay near his young lover. Of course Russ would never understand this.

 

“Okay,” he sighed instead, his mind already shifting into damage limitation mode. “Just let me tell him alright? See if I can’t sell it to him.”

 

A light on the phone unit in front of him started flashing and Russ shuffled in his seat as he glanced at the light and then back at Hannibal. “Too late,” he muttered _almost_ apologetically, “he’s already here.”

 

___________________

 

When Face stepped into the room, Hannibal’s stomach twisted as it always did when he first saw him. He was dressed in clean, neat, regulation BDUs and Hannibal held back a wry grin as he realised that the kid had probably got hold of them specifically for this meeting with the General – shit, he was nothing if not a fast mover. His hair and his stubble were also tastefully mussed, not too much that Russ might think him scruffy, but he certainly wasn’t going to come in here all clean-shaven and groomed. In Hannibal’s eyes he was just perfect.

 

He looked chilled and relaxed as he stepped in and saluted, it was only as he was set at ease and turned to wink at Hannibal sat slightly behind him that he took in the look on his boss’ face and all that ease and confidence seemed to slide right off him. As he slowly sat down in the chair across the doorway from him, Hannibal cursed himself for not managing to hold a more neutral expression. 

 

“Face! Good to see you kid! How’s the arm holding up?” Morrison had taken to using his moniker since the Russian mission and the siege at the bar on Tybee Island and Hannibal found that he didn’t necessarily like it, that it made him feel ever so slightly edgy, after all, he knew exactly what Russ was capable of doing, and someone like Face would most certainly be on the General’s radar.

 

“It’s absolutely fine thank you General, sir,” Face answered respectfully and Hannibal was impressed that not a shade of the kid’s own anxiety showed through in his words. 

 

“Good!” Russ nodded and moved sharply onto business. “Got a bit of a job on this week, big one, important – need you to switch roles for me, Face.”

 

Hannibal had been watching his XO’s expression and saw what Morrison didn’t, the little flicker of uncertainly there, fear even.

 

“I’m running four teams on this one, four Alpha Units all working on the same mission,” the General continued, chuckling a little at the thought, “gonna take a bit of organising I can tell you.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Face shuffled forward in his seat and Hannibal saw him, eager to please, mind already trying to jump ahead and realised that he loved him even more for it. “So what do you need from me then, sir? Supplies? Ordnance? Logistics?”

 

Morrison laughed again, “Good God boy, no!” Face flushed, “I want you to lead a team.”

 

There was a stunned silence from Face, and a loaded one from the General as Hannibal mentally crossed his fingers and hoped that Face handled this right.

 

“A team?” Face asked quietly, throwing a quick glance at Hannibal. “An Alpha Unit?”

 

“Yes!” Morrison told him and Hannibal could see just the edges of annoyance creeping into the General’s tone, annoyance in the fact that Face wasn’t grinning like an idiot or throwing cartwheels around the place just now; he just hoped that Face could see it as well.

 

Unfortunately, the kid still just looked shell-shocked. “A Team?” he repeated again, “But, General, sir... I’m only a Lieutenant...”

 

“I know what rank you are, Peck!” Morrison ground out across the desk at him and Hannibal felt his heart kick up a notch, praying that Face would pick the damn ball up and run with it.

 

And then, finally, he saw it. That smooth slide into con mode, the mask coming on and Face being what someone else wanted him to be, instead of who he really was, and for some reason it just made Hannibal feel downright tragic for him. “I know, I mean... Wow, sir! I’m just a little speechless here!”

 

That seemed to please the General and he threw a smug glance Hannibal’s way. “I bet you are, son!” he said, grinning broadly. “And Hannibal over there said you wouldn’t even want this!” Hannibal returned the smile, even though his back teeth were grinding together, but Face didn’t even glance his way, sharing the joke with the General instead. “Congratulations!” Morrison said, pushing a glass of scotch over the table towards him. “We’ll see how this goes shall we, son? And then we’ll have a look and see how we can make it into something a little more permanent.”

 

Face nodded convincingly enough and thanked the General profusely as he took the scotch, but Hannibal wasn’t fooled at all, could see the way his eyes were flat, the way he was definitely not ever looking in Hannibal’s direction. “When’s the mission then, sir?” he asked instead, still perched on the edge of his seat, looking like the eager soldier he wasn’t.

 

“You’ll be flying out tomorrow night, planning meeting at 0900, briefing for the boys at 1700. Obviously I expect you at them both. There will be four teams, you and Hannibal have one each and then-” He stopped short suddenly and the three men in the room all turned to the closed door and the commotion they could hear on the other side of it. There was obviously an argument going on in the Reception area outside Russ’ office, they could hear his secretary’s voice, and the voice of a man, but as yet, no words could be discerned.

 

Hannibal saw Russell shift in his seat and knew he was getting his gun out as he and Face both rose to their feet, scotch quickly forgotten. “You want me to take a look, Russ?” Hannibal asked quietly, just as a shout of, ‘I told you! You can’t go in there!’ reached them and the door flew open.

 

Only years of training and experience stopped Russell Morrison from shooting the man who suddenly stood in front of his frantic secretary as she leaned around him apologising profusely. “I am so sorry, sir!” she said, and Hannibal felt desperate for her, “I told him you were busy! I told him to wait!”

 

“Glenda, Glenda, it’s okay,” Morrison soothed her and she flushed, realising that she was no longer required and ducked out, closing the door after her. Then he turned to the man in impeccably clean, pressed, BDUs who was standing in between Hannibal and Face, his fists clenched in fury. “Captain Harker,” he said darkly. “If you have a reason for this appalling display of rudeness, then you had better state it pretty damn quickly and pray that I share your opinion.”

 

Ged Harker looked angrier than Hannibal had ever seen him, which was definitely saying something as the man was well known for being able to fly off the handle in record time – and people said that BA was the one with the bad attitude!

 

“So, it’s true then,” Harker ground out, his eyes resting on a fairly fatalistic looking Face who seemed to have pieced things together pretty quickly; Hannibal’s heart sank. “You giving an Alpha Team, _my_ Alpha Team, to Barbie’s Ken here?”      

 

Silence greeted his words and Hannibal tensed, even though he wasn’t the one that was about to be on the end of the General’s temper. “Your Alpha Team?” Russ asked quietly, calmly, like a snake waiting to strike.

 

“Yes!” Harker seethed, totally oblivious to the trouble he was marching himself in to. “You know that next team should have been mine! You know I’ve been waiting for the next one to come up! You know I’m better qualified for it than he is!”

 

“I do know all of those things, yes,” Morrison said, quietly. “And yet I still chose Face over you. Doesn’t that tell you something, Harker?”

 

Hannibal had to fight back the smirk he felt rising at those words – oh yes, there was a reason Russ was where he was today.

 

“But he’s a poxy Lieutenant...” Harker hissed, his face so red Hannibal wondered if he had issues with his blood pressure.

 

Still Russ didn’t appear troubled by any of this. “Why does everyone insist on reminding me of the rank of my men today, John?” he asked instead, and Harker whirled on his feet, noticing Hannibal for the very first time.

 

“I might of known that he would be in on it as well, sir!” he said, spinning back to face Morrison. “He always gets what he wants! Best missions, best postings! No wonder this team has gone to his best cock-sucking-”

 

“Enough!” the roar that came from Morrison’s mouth was literally enough to shake the glass in the window frames and definitely enough to finally shock Harker into realising who the hell he was addressing; he seemed to choke on his tongue in his haste to swallow down his words and the silence that followed that roar was excruciatingly awkward to say the very least.

 

“Attention,” he finally hissed in a voice as quiet as the roar was loud and Hannibal could see Face fighting the affect that those barely audible words had on him as Harker snapped into perfect attention position. “You will wait outside my office,” Morrison told him in a voice so low that Hannibal could see that Face had stopped breathing so he could listen effectively, “and when I deem that you have retrieved the sense that you have so obviously lost this morning, I will speak to you. And in the meantime, you will do well to remind yourself that I make the decisions on this base, not you, and you should also dwell on the fact that your little outburst this morning has cost you a place on the whole damn op. Do you understand me?”

 

If at all possible, Harker managed to flush a deeper shade of red, but he still succeeded in forcing out a loud and perfectly respectable, “Sir! Yes, sir!”

 

“And before you go, you will apologise to the Lieutenant here for the slur you have thrown at his character, and to the Colonel for the manner in which you spoke of him, a _Colonel_ in this army and a better soldier than you will ever be.” Silence fell and Hannibal could see a vein jumping madly in the Captain’s temple as he processed Russ’ words. “Captain?” came the prompt and at last Harker turned.

 

“Colonel Smith, sir,” he said, and Hannibal had to give him credit for the volume he was forcing out. “I apologise, sir, if my words caused you any offence at all.”

 

“Thank you, sonny,” Hannibal replied, deliberately using the belittling title. “And I am impressed that you at least recognise that all of my missions are indeed the best.”

 

He could see Russell smirking in the corner of his eye as the Captain turned slowly and forcefully towards Face. “I apologise,” he said, obviously driving every syllable out from unwilling lips.

 

Face smiled at him, one of his most irritating shit eating grins. “Thank you!” he beamed. “And you know what, Ged?” he replied evenly, “I almost, _almost_ , believe you!” He smirked, trying hard to tamp it down when he saw Hannibal’s scowl headed in his direction, but Harker just glared at him and walked out.

 

“And that,” said Morrison, “is what you get when your daddy is a retired General and you think the whole god-damned army owes you a living...” He shook his head and glanced at the two men in front of him who also lowered themselves back down. “Now, where were we?”

 

It was Face who answered and Hannibal’s stomach twisted quickly as he saw the look on the kid’s face once more, all the smirk and the attitude and the false confidence he’d had for Harker was gone, replaced instead by a worried frown. “Sir,” he asked hesitantly and Hannibal could see that Morrison’s frown was also back. “What Harker said,” he was obviously struggling for the right words to use here, “you don’t think that that’s what the all the others will think as well?”

 

It was the wrong thing to say, Hannibal knew it and held his breath, wondering which way Russ would jump. “You telling me you can’t do this, Peck?” he asked quietly and Face visibly started.

 

“No, sir! No!” he quickly replied, “It’s just – I’m not sure if the men will accept me, that’s all.”

 

“If you can do this, they will accept you,” Morrison told him bluntly. “Can you do this or shall I get Harker back in here and tell him he was right?”

 

“I can do it,” Face said firmly and Hannibal let out the breath he was holding.

 

“Excellent!” Russ said picking up his notes from off the desk in front of him, “so, as I was saying, you and Hannibal have a team each...”

 

___________________

 

An hour and a half later, Face and Hannibal were walking back to Hannibal’s car with a heavy silence hanging over them. The rest of the meeting with Russ had been uneventful, discussing plans and tactics and ideas and Hannibal had been pleased with the input Face had made, could tell that Russ was impressed too. Then they’d left and there had been the obligatory sledging in the corridor with a stony faced Harker, all triggered when Face had winked at him as they’d passed by, but that was to be expected and Hannibal had left the two of them to it, just reminding Face that Harker was a senior officer just as soon as they were out of earshot.

 

Neither of them spoke again until they were in the car, off the base and joining the freeway and then Hannibal caught the moment out of the corner of his eye when Face visibly sagged.

 

“You okay, kid?” he asked quietly, letting his hand slip from the shifter and onto a camo-clad knee.

 

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Face asked from deep in the palms of his hands where he was currently hiding himself.

 

Hannibal smiled despite the complete lack of humour to be found in the whole situation. “Russia,” he explained patiently. “And that siege. I’ve been telling you kid, your name is known now, people are watching you, will be watching see how you handle this mission.”

 

“I don’t want them to,” came the muffled voice in reply. “I don’t want to run my own unit.” Hannibal just squeezed his leg in sympathy. “And you heard Harker, no one else is going to want me to run one either.”

 

“Harker is a dick,” Hannibal muttered as they pulled back off the freeway and started making towards the house the four of them now shared. “We know that, everyone knows that. No one will turn a hair about this Face, you deserve it, I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

 

They pulled off the main road and into the quiet estate where they were currently renting, but Face didn’t answer.    

 

___________________________

 

It seemed like only five minutes later that they were arriving for the 0900 commanders’ briefing and Face smiled wanly at Glenda, Morrison’s secretary, as she handed him a list of his team for the mission. “Who’ve you got?” Hannibal asked, leaning over his shoulder as they made their way to the briefing table.

 

“Sharkie,” Face muttered, his finger tracing over a name from way back, from when he first started in Hannibal’s unit, “I haven’t seen him in months. Sam Collingwood, he’s okay, and then Jake Winston, I don’t know him.”

 

Hannibal nodded, “Good, that’s a good team, kid,” and Face turned to look at his paper.

 

“What about you?” Hannibal held his list out to Face who read in silence, a knot of something uncomfortable twisting inside him as he saw Hannibal’s name, along with Murdock and BA and then, where he should be, Jackson Carlton, the new wonder-kid on the block.

 

There was no time for any more reflections on that front, however, as the doors at the back of the room banged open and Russell Morrison strode in, already talking as he approached.

 

“Good morning gentlemen, nice to see you, let’s get straight down to business.” He sat himself at the chair at the end of the table and took a long swig from the mug of coffee already steaming at his side. “Okay, we all know each other, so let’s not waste time on shit like that,” his keen eyes flicked around the table at the four men sat looking at him. “I’m sure you’ve read your mission notes, but won’t do any harm just to make sure.” He zeroed in on Face, “Peck? You’re the new guy here, why not summarise what you know?”

 

For a split second, Hannibal felt cold with apprehension. He should have realised that Morrison would do this, throw Face into the deep end, he should have warned the kid, they could have rehearsed something last night. But he quickly realised that his concerns were unfounded; if he was surprised by this request, then Face obviously wasn’t and he smoothly slid in to a polished recap.

 

“Dr. Christian Markl,” he started, pulling a colour photograph of a bearded man in his fifties from the briefing notes on the table. “German chemist and one time employee of the Yemeni military, _supposedly_ heading up a program to develop a new strain of deadly, invisible chemical weapon. Having had a change of heart and fleeing to the US last year, Markl has been, right up until last week, a guest of the CIA. Three days ago, the CIA felt that it would be appropriate to take Markl back to Yemen in a spotter plane, see if he could accurately identify the site of his old laboratory.” Face flicked his eyes up to meet with the General’s. “Unfortunately, the plane ran into technical difficulties and crashed in the sparsely populated Hadhramaut region of the country. Satellite images suggest that all four occupants of the plane survived the impact and have been taken to the nearby fortified town of,” his eyes scanned his notes, “ _Badikh Jidar_. Intelligence suggests that, as yet, the Yemenis do not know they have Dr. Markl in their hands once again. Our brief is to get into _Badikh Jidar_ , and return Dr. Markl and the three agents who were in the plane with him to the US, before the Yemenis work out who he is.”

 

He stopped and looked back at Morrison, who only briefly nodded before turning to the other men around the table. “We all clear on that?” there were nods all around, “Okay so, this is how it’s going to go down...”

 

Face sat back in his seat a little and let out a long but surreptitious breath. Next to him, Hannibal’s eyes never left the map that Russ was now pointing to, but under the table, his hand reached out and firmly squeezed Face’s knee before sneaking back into his own lap and Face smiled behind the shield of his own hand.  

 

_____________________________

 

The whole day passed in a blur for Face. He’d really been hoping that he and Hannibal would get chance to go to bed for a couple of hours in the afternoon, try and make up a little for the time they would have to spend apart in the coming days, but unfortunately, that time never materialised. The commanders’ briefing was far more like a planning session and lasted until almost 1300. Then Face needed to prepare his input for the rest of the boys at the 1700 briefing. Of course he needed to pack, not only his own stuff, but organise whatever his entire team would need for the four days they were scheduled to be away. Even with all his experience of packing up and preparing Hannibal’s team, it was a daunting if not frantic afternoon, and he’d only just managed to pull all his gear together as he walked into the already crowded briefing room at 1655.

 

He hadn’t had the chance to think back to how his presence as a team leader would be accepted by the men in this room, but as he walked in, his stomach immediately knotted up once more and he felt almost every eye in the place turn to him as he tried to make his way surreptitiously to where he could see Hannibal and Morrison at the far side of the crowd. However, there was to be no such luck for him.

 

“Face!” a hand landed firmly on his shoulder and he turned to see Sgt. Jon Olsen, Jonno, another member of Face’s original team, beaming at him. “Heya, kid! Good to see you!” Face smiled and let himself be pulled into a quick, hard embrace. “Finally made it into the big league have you? Always said you would!”      

 

Smiling self-consciously, Face cast about for something to say to that, but was saved the effort by Sharkie suddenly appearing at Jonno’s side, his dark eyes narrowed at Face. “Yeah?” he said, his voice quiet and his accent every bit as thick as Face remembered it, “If you think I’m taking orders off the runt here, though, you got another thing coming...”

 

Face’s already tight stomach contracted sharply at that, hell, if Sharkie wasn’t going to accept him, someone who knew him and knew what he was capable of, then what hope did he have of anyone else doing it?

 

Jonno’s sharp laughter jolted him back to the present, however, and he watched as one of his old teammates threw an elbow into the ribs of the other. “Knock it off, Sharkie!” he admonished, “Can’t you see the kid’s shitting bricks here as it is? He doesn’t need your piss poor excuses for jokes!”

 

Realising that Jonno’s swearing hadn’t got any better right alongside Sharkie’s sense of humour, Face forced a flat grin onto his face and shook Sharkie’s proffered hand.

 

“Hey, LT, I’m sorry yeah?” Sharkie told him, “I’m pleased for you, right? You know that? At least I know you know what you doing here, not like that _culero_...” he nodded to his right and Face, feeling a little wrong footed by the whole conversation turned and felt his entire stomach drop into his boots as he came face to face with a grim faced Harker.

 

“Peck,” he spat, sidling over and obviously doing his best to sneer at Face. “Seems like the General couldn’t do without me on this one after all. He doubts you already, wants me around to pick up the pieces when you fuck up.”

 

Face just laughed at him. “Yeah? Well, you’ll only be picking up pieces if I order you to Harker, ‘cause I’m running the show, and you,” he smiled sweetly, “are not.”

 

That haze of anger washed over Harker’s face and he leaned in, eyes flashing in fury. “It’ll be the day hell freezes over when I take orders off you, _runt_ ,” he whispered.

 

But Face didn’t let his smile waver an inch, “ _Metete un palo por el culo, payaso...”_ he said smoothly instead, leaving Jonno and Sharkie, both only too familiar with what was Sharkie’s favourite insult from his adolescent days, choking in laughter, and Harker, sadly deficient in any knowledge of Spanish, but just _knowing_ he’d been badly insulted, stewing in his wake.

 

Face’s cocky grin faded into nothing, however, as soon as his back was turned and he kept his head down, heading for the corner where he’d last seen Hannibal and hoping that Harker being here was just some horrific mistake.

 

“Kid,” a hand on his arm startled him from his thoughts and he looked up to see Hannibal frowning at him, his brows pulled in that expression of annoyance that Face knew only too well. “Harker’s back on the gig.”

 

“I know,” Face hissed as Hannibal led him to the corridor at the back of the room, “he’s told me. What the fuck is all that about? Am I off?”

 

For a second, Hannibal was speechless, then he pulled himself together with an incredulous shake of his head. “Off? Face, no you’re not _off_ \- have a little faith! No, Winston’s gone down with food poisoning, Harker’s the only one Russ could get hold of at such short notice.”

 

Now it was Face’s turn to frown. “Winston? Corporal Winston?” Hannibal nodded, “Fuck! He was mine! Am I saddled with that prick now?”

 

Pulling him a little further away from the door, Hannibal made sure they were alone before he spoke, “No, don’t sweat it kid, I’ve spoken to Russ and I’ve traded him with you.”

 

Face paused for just a beat, his emotions torn between relief that Harker wasn’t going to be a thorn in _his_ side and shame that, yet again, Hannibal was sorting his life out for him. “Boss,” he started, “I-”

 

“Save it Face,” Hannibal muttered, seeing the look in his XO’s eyes and knowing the route they were starting along. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t do for me. Now, let’s get back before we miss the brief.”

 

_________________________

 

Face was last up with his contribution to the brief, and by the time Major Steinher nodded his way to start him off, he’d managed to corral his emotions and was calm and confident, which was a fortunate fact. 

 

“Okay,” he spoke to the quietly assembled men, “our primary target is Doctor Christian Markl, born in Germany, Markl has lived in the US since he was fifteen. Now in his mid-fifties he-”

 

“Mid-fifties?” Came a voice from near the back and Face looked across to see Harker’s bent head as he worked on his notes. “You got nothing more concrete than that for us?”

 

The room fell silent and Face stared for a second, waiting to see if Harker was going to look up from his notes – when he didn’t he took a steadying breath. “Born in the 98th Munich General Hospital on 2nd June 1948,” he interjected smoothly into the silence instead. “Makes him 54 if you can’t do the math, Ged.” There was a couple of hastily smothered sniggers, but Harker just nodded, still refusing to look up at Face and continued with his notes, Face turned away.    

 

“For ten years between 1991 and 2001,” Face continued, “he worked as part of the Yemeni Government’s ‘Science for Change’ program, which is widely believed to be a cover for research into chemical and biological weapons. During a visit home to the States in 2001, he approached-”

 

“Home?” At last Harker looked up, lounging back in his seat, his face a picture of amused insolence. “Sorry, Lieutenant, I know you don’t do this much so you can be excused, but I don’t actually know where Markl’s _home_ is so that fact is a little pointless.”

 

Again a few sniggers ran around the room and Hannibal felt his heart thumping hard in his chest. He was itching to bawl the insolent little fucker out for daring to speak to a mission commander like this, but Russ was just watching in silence, his keen eyes flicking between Face and Harker, his fingers steepled together in front of his nose, so he held his peace and left Face to handle it.

 

Face, his expression carefully blank, held Harker’s eyes for just longer than was entirely comfortable, just until the Captain’s smile was starting to waver and then he turned away. “During a visit home to the States in 2001,” he repeated, “he approached CIA agents in Bridgeport, where he’d been living before he went to the Yemen, and told them he had information they would be interested in. He was due back in the Yemen towards the end of 2001 but-”

 

“Towards the end?” this time Harker laughed and Hannibal felt his hackles rise further. “Really, Peck, you’re so vague you could be in the company yourself here!” Again the laughs. “When are we going to get some real facts about this guy?”

 

His comment hung in the air and Hannibal held his breath, glancing over at Russ who was watching Face, his expression inscrutable. Face, however, just smiled, the shit-eating shark’s grin that he knew tended to wind people up. “You know Ged, you’re being a bit of an ass. People are trying to listen. How about you save all your comments ‘til then end and then we’ll listen to them all at once, give everyone a break.”

 

Harker, eyes narrowed, opened his mouth to comment but Jonno beat him to it. “Put a sock in it, man...” he grumbled and again the laughs rang around the room. With a deep breath, Face pushed on.

 

The rest of the briefing went smoothly, but Hannibal watched as Harker made furious notes, smirking from time to time and leaning over to whisper in the ear of the guy next to him more than once as Face was talking.

 

“And that’s all we’ve got,” he wrapped up, closing his notes and scanning the room around him. “Any questions?”

 

Hannibal wondered at the wisdom of inviting comments from the room when Harker was obviously intent on being so challenging, and sure enough, there he was, sitting himself up tall, clip board in his hands, smug arrogance plastered all over him, but Face, however was faster. “You know, Ged,” he said easily, still packing away his sheets as he spoke, “you seem to have a bit of an unhealthy interest in Markl there. What else could you possibly want to know that I haven’t already told you? His inside leg?” Sniggers sounded around the room again. “Brand of rubber?” More sniggers sounded and he shook his head theatrically, “I think you need Grindr more than you need me.” At that several real, belly laughs sounded out around the room, and Hannibal was sure he could see Russ smirk behind his hand. Harker looked taken aback and was poised, half in and half out of his seat, his mouth open, and the very second he looked ready to make his retort, Face moved on.

 

“So anyone who’s interested in the _military_ side of this and not just some creepy stalker fan-girl got any questions?” More laughter. “No? Okay, then,” he glanced at his watch, “ninety minutes to go,” and then he zeroed straight in on Harker’s flustered face and as he opened his mouth yet again to object, called, “Dismissed,” and promptly turned away.

 

Harker’s objections were drowned out in a cacophony of scraping chairs and laughter and voices and Face quickly collected his gear and then straightened up, determined to hold his ground and stare Harker out; Hannibal, however, had other ideas. Within ten seconds he was across the room, taking hold of Face’s forearm in a crushing grip and dragging him towards the door.

 

“Hannibal!” Face hissed, almost staggering to keep up.

 

“Quiet!” came the barked response, “And for God’s sake, look natural!”

 

Face carefully schooled his features into ‘natural’ but it wasn’t easy when Hannibal just about threw him through the double doors hidden behind the screen at the back of the room and hauled him along another corridor. “Where are we going?” he tried again, sorely tempted just to throw the boss off him.

 

“Shut up!” Hannibal snapped back and Face frowned, wondering what the fuck he’d done wrong.

 

“Look, boss, if this is about baiting Harker, then, _shit_ you can’t tell me he didn’t deserve it, I mean he was-”

 

“I said, shut up!” Hannibal snarled. They had reached another door in the corridor now and Hannibal fumbled with a key, unlocking it before shoving Face inside and locking it again, throwing them both into complete darkness and the smell of stationary supplies.

 

Face opened his mouth to object, and to ask what the hell they were doing here, when suddenly the light flicked on, almost blinding him in its brightness, and as his eyes reflexively flashed closed he felt six foot four of solid muscle crash into him, shoving him up, up against shelves packed with cardboard boxes and, before he even had time to speak, rough, frantic lips were on his, opening him up, followed by a thrusting tongue that shoved straight in stealing Face’s words and his air all in one go.

 

His body, like it always did, reacted with breathtaking speed to Hannibal’s presence. He felt his cock thicken and swell instantly, and he spread his legs to give it more room in his trunks as he kissed back with everything he had, feeling the messy and almost brutal ravaging of his mouth like an electric shock to the brain. Hannibal noted the awkward shuffling and surged forward into the gap between Face’s now spread thighs, thrusting his own very, very noticeable hard-on frantically against him, pinning him to the shelves with his weight and his passion.

 

Eventually, just when Face was starting to feel light headed through lack of air, he pulled away, yanking Face’s t-shirt roughly up and over his head and falling on an exposed collarbone instead, sucking and nipping and kissing and biting even through the words that were tumbling from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he gasped, thrusting even harder now as Face just tried to keep on his feet. “You have no idea how fucking hot you were up there just then,” another hard thrust and this time Face couldn’t stop the moan that left him. “Putting that dick-head in his place, so calm, so cool, so fucking in control of the whole room,” Face was vaguely aware of his combats being unfastened. “God I was hard the whole way through...”

 

Face’s eyes rolled back at those words and opened his mouth to speak, only to find the words gone again as he was spun around and shoved, face first, into the shelves again.

 

“Need to have you,” Hannibal muttered behind him, shuffling and wriggling while one handedly yanking Face’s trousers and trunks down, “Need to feel your heat, need you clenched around me, need to feel you come on my cock.”

 

Looking down, Face saw his clothes pooled obscenely around his ankles, his cock, hard and red and leaking, straining away from his body and felt a thrill of panic at where they were. “Boss,” he whispered, his voice embarrassingly hoarse, “we can’t do this here!”

 

“Yes we can,” Hannibal gasped behind him and Face let out a low moan as a desperate, wet finger shoved inside him. “We have to, I can’t let you go without my seed inside you.”

 

Face moaned again and knew that his brain was fighting a losing battle, they _were_ going to do this, right here, with all their damn colleagues just down the corridor, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it now. The finger inside him was joined by another, which quickly and roughly forced him open before withdrawing and being replaced by the red hot, heavy heat of a swollen dick.

 

Grabbing at the dusty shelves in front of him, Face widened his stance as much as his trousers would let him and tipped his hips, he felt that huge cock surge forward, trapping his own erection against a box of A4 files and start to push in and he couldn’t stop the whine from deep in the back of his throat at the almost brutal invasion, so uncomfortable, hardly stretched as he was, but so, so wanted.

 

Suddenly, a leather covered hand slapped tight over his mouth and there was a hot breath at his ear as that presence in his ass slid further and further inside. “Not a sound, baby boy,” Hannibal whispered desperately, “you need to be silent, you need to take me in silence...”

 

Face knew that, of course he knew that, he knew just what was at risk here, but _shit_ it was hard – literally!

 

As if sensing his struggles, another hand slid down off his hip and around until it was gripping his own leaking cock tightly, and then, instead of the slow strokes Face had been expecting, Hannibal instantly started up a furious pace, his hand blurring with the speed it was working Face’s cock.

 

Face tipped his head back and tried to cry out, but those leather-covered fingers were inside his mouth now, stealing every noise and with the change of angle the huge, hot cock was right up inside him, making his vision grey with every pass it made against his sensitive prostate.

 

“Bite me,” Hannibal hissed in his ear as he continued to fist him at speed. “Bite my fingers when you come, baby, I want to feel you and watch you while I fuck you...”

 

And that was Face finished, the punishing pressure on his cock was dragging him forward, the dick in his ass was constantly nudging, nudging him towards the edge, and those damn fingers, filling his mouth, restricting his breathing, making the drool run down his chin, their presence somehow even more intimate than the penetrating cock... A combination of the three, added to the words that Hannibal was whispering in his ears soon had him twitching and spasming as he silently and explosively, came all over the side the cardboard box in front of him. Hannibal was right behind, surging forward with every pulse of semen to leave his body, his convulsing grip on Face’s cock almost painful but still so, so wonderful. 

 

As his orgasm left him, so did all of Face’s strength and he sagged sharply against the shelving, his own screaming biceps as well as Hannibal’s thick arms, struggling to keep him upright.

 

“Shit,” Hannibal’s breathless voice whispered in his ear, “Sorry, kid, I’ve got you, here, I’ve got you, just breathe through it.”

 

And they did, together, Face jammed up against the cardboard boxes, Hannibal right behind him, a solid heat on his naked ass, they stood and let their pulses settle, their hearts slow and their legs solidify.

 

“There,” Hannibal said eventually, pulling away and dragging Face’s underwear and combats back up to his thighs. “You okay now?”

 

He handed Face a roll of hand towels from one of the shelves and Face set about cleaning himself up, wiping down his groin, his thighs and finally his ass before finishing off his clothing, grimacing at the stickiness he could still feel – he’d need another shower before they went for sure. He looked up to find Hannibal, drawn and serious looking, still waiting for his answer. “Okay?” he smirked, reaching out to cup that still face. “Fucking top, boss. Where the hell did _that_ come from?”

 

Hannibal smiled and leaned into the palm on his cheek. “Guess I’ve just discovered a new kink, hey, sweetheart? We’ll have to remember that for when we have more time.”

 

“Oh, we certainly will,” Face promised, removing his hand to straighten his clothing. “But if anyone had come in here just then, we’d have had all the time in the world, once the Court Martial was over of course...” he glanced up, the warning clear in his words and wondered what alternative universe they were in where _he_ was cautioning Hannibal on his recklessness.

 

“I know,” Hannibal whispered and it was clear from the look on his face that he did. “It’s just... shit kid... a mission without you...” he stepped in and Face reached out to touch his face again.

 

“Four or five days,” he whispered, holding Hannibal’s eyes, “a week at the most... Hell boss, it’s not like we’ve never been apart before!”

 

“I know,” Hannibal repeated, “it’s just...” he shook his head, the words simply not coming. “And anyway,” he warned, “you make sure you stay away from Harker. I think this afternoon’s little show has just made you one dangerous enemy.”

 

Face shrugged and started wiping congealing semen off the boxes in front of him. “He started it,” he muttered.

 

“And you finished it, and he won’t forget that, kid. He’s got friends in high places too, _daddy’s_ friends in high places, so you better watch your back.”

 

Straightening up, Face was all ready with his throwaway comment, but then he caught the look in Hannibal’s eyes and leaned in instead. “I will,” he promised, the words drifting right over Hannibal’s lips just before he caught them in a soft and gentle kiss.

 

All too soon they pulled away and they both knew that they had pushed their luck here just about as far as they possibly could for one day. “Who’s leaving first?” Hannibal asked quietly.

 

“You can,” Face answered, forcing a grin onto his face, “check the coast’s clear.”

 

Hannibal nodded and went to leave before pausing and looking like he was going to say something else. But then he pulled away again, a wry smile on his lips and a whisper of, “Keep safe, LT,” before he slid out into the corridor.

 

With a heavy heart, Face waited another ten minutes before he followed him, going straight for a shower before rendezvousing with his slightly amended team and heading out to catch their transport; by the time they got to the heli-pad, Hannibal and his team had already gone.

 

____________________________

 

Considering all the stress and all the build up there had been to this mission, Face was struggling to think of when he’d spent a more boring and uncomfortable twenty-four hours. It was his turn on recon, laid flat out on his belly on the crest of a sand dune, hidden under a baking hot camo-tarp, watching the comings and goings at the huge medieval prison that reared up out of the sand in the north-western corner of the walled city of _Badikh Jidar_. They needed a way in, this was their turf to check for Markl, and there was absolutely no way of knowing if he was in there unless they got in too – and that was proving problematic.

 

Shuffling in the sand behind him alerted him to BA’s presence, come to take over the recon, and Face steeled himself, waiting for the snide comments to start up.

 

It was testament to how rattled Harker’s presence had made him back at the briefing that he never even thought to ask Hannibal just who the boss had traded the obnoxious Captain for, but Face had been less than thrilled to find BA, along with Sharkie and Sergeant Sam Collingwood, waiting for him after his shower.

 

So far, however, the big guy had held his tongue. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way over, looked pretty much freaked out again by the whole flying thing and Face resolved to mention it to Hannibal when they got back, but then once they were on the ground, he was hardly more talkative, following orders quickly and silently, but Face was just waiting for the sniping to start.

 

“Anything?” was his opening comment and Face found himself bristling, expecting a barb that just wasn’t there yet.

 

“Maybe, a couple of possibilities, nothing I feel confident about yet though.”

 

BA nodded. “You know Hannibal would send one of us down there to get arrested, get the intel from the inside,” and Face gritted his teeth, here it was.

 

“Yeah?” he said a little more snappily than he needed to. “You volunteering then? March down there and cause a scene, get yourself carted in through those doors?” he nodded to the huge, heavy wooden doors on the south side of the prison, the ones that only ever opened a crack, nowhere near enough to see what was beyond them. “And how would you get back out again, once they’d let you sneak around to your heart’s content?”

 

He hadn’t moved from his position, eyes glued to said wooden doors but he felt BA turn to stare at the side of his head. “I’m not volunteering and I wasn’t suggesting,” he said quietly, “I was making a joke, man. You don’t always have to be so touchy.”

 

Face let out a long sigh and removed the binoculars to rub at his eyes. “Okay,” he said, realising that maybe he was a little on edge, “I’m sorry.”

 

They slid back into silence, Face feeling the sweat from his back trickling down his ribs, annoying the hell out of him, before eventually BA spoke again. “It’s my watch,” he murmured, “you missing out on kip staying up here like this.”

 

“Yeah,” Face grumbled, “like I’d be able to sleep anyway in this fucking heat, it’s like – woah!” He broke off midsentence and BA tensed as Face adjusted the focus of the glasses. “What have we got here I wonder?” he whispered quietly. “BA, I think we may just have found our way in...”

 

___________________________

 

The night was as cold as the day had been hot as Face fronted an impromptu team meeting. “So, everyone clear on their roles?” he asked, winding things up, and looked from man to man, their faces only illuminated by the myriad of stars in the sky. There was a chorus of, ‘Yes, sir,’s from them all and he nodded, satisfied, until his eyes landed on BA that was.

 

Face had known Sharkie a long time, knew he wasn’t the easiest to get along with, knew that he could rub people up the wrong way with effortless ease, knew he could speak his mind, use his fists without thought or care – in fact he was a lot like BA. But what Face also knew, and BA didn’t, was that Sharkie could, and did, listen intently, while appearing to do precisely the opposite.

 

That’s what he’d done throughout the entire team meeting, sat slightly to one side, facing at right angles to where Face was crouched in the dirt, and all the while whittling away at the hunk of wood in his stubby fingers, not meeting Face’s gaze once. To be truthful, Face had hardly noticed, so used as he was to Sharkie’s methods, but BA had and he didn’t like it. Face didn’t fool himself for one minute that it was anything to do with outrage at a supposed lack of respect being afforded to his commander, and everything with the ‘why do I have to listen when he isn’t?’ attitude.

 

Face sighed – he had precious little time for this. “Sharkie,” he said crisply into the night and the man didn’t even move, didn’t make the slightest sign that he’d even heard Face speak and, next to him, BA’s eyes narrowed. “Recap for us.” This was a technique that Hannibal had taught him, not only did it prove that at least _one_ man had been listening, it also gave the others a chance to hear the plan again. Even more advantageous than that though, was the opportunity to hear your own strategy through the words of another; sometimes hearing it like that was the very best way to look for holes or consider improvements, and of course, if all the men were worried that they would be called upon to recap the plan, then they’d _all_ listen just that little bit better. Wins all around.

 

Before BA even had the chance to look smug at Sharkie being called out on his inattention, the other man had started his recap, his thick accent soft and melodious in the night as he continued to whittle his wood.

 

“We’re going to split,” he started. “BA and Faceman are going in, me and Colly are back-up. You’re going in through the main gate disguised as traders and then are gonna hunker down under the water jeep while it’s still dark, using straps to keep outta sight. The water jeep goes into the jail twice a day, morning and night, you take a ride in, split up and look around, meet up at the West gate at 1700hrs so you can get out before the gates close for the night again. Me and Colly watch in turn, and if it all goes belly up we call in Delta team.”

 

Face paused, _shit_ , it sounded so god-damn _basic_ when it was said like that, nothing like the plan the boss would have come up with...

 

“That not right, LT?” Sharkie’s voice snapped him back to awareness and he shook himself awake.

 

“Yeah, Shark, that’s it buddy, you got it.” He caught the look of surprise that was still hanging around the edges of BA’s face and smiled grimly – job done.

 

____________________________

 

Face had guessed in advance that the only way into _Badikh Jidar_ was going to be through one of the gates. The city had ancient, but very solid, stonewalls that rose up almost three stories into the piercing blue skies, even Spiderman was going to struggle to get over those unseen. Knowing that, he’d been prepared with robes to wear and packs filled with carefully wrapped ‘jewellery’ from Africa, just hoping that the guards on the gates didn’t do their job with too much vigilance. He wasn’t too concerned, he’d watched the gate for a good portion of yesterday and there were plenty of people wandering in and out all day without the guards even bothering to get up out of the shade.

 

He and BA walked in silence, their robes concealing their weapons and a good portion of their faces. Face knew that BA wouldn’t attract any undue attention, there were plenty of dark skinned people in the city already he’d noticed, but he was less than keen on showing too much of his own skin, tanned as he was, he knew he’d instantly stand out. He’d need to keep his head down, literally, as well – he knew the colour of his eyes would single him out as a Westerner as soon as anyone saw them. Sharkie would have maybe been a better bet to send in, definitely more than Colly whose skin was almost luminescent in its paleness, but Face just knew that Sharkie and BA would be a bad mix, and if Face was going in, which was never in doubt in his head, then BA was the man you would always want at your side in a fist fight; they might be having their issues right now, the man might not trust Face all that much, but Face had seen him fight and sparred with him on numerous occasions and there was no one in the Rangers that could rival BA’s level of pure skill in hand to hand.

 

“Guy on the left’s asleep,” BA muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they approached the gate and Face smiled under the cover of his robes, maybe this was going to be even easier than he’d hoped.

 

They drifted straight in, past the bored guards who were defending a city that hadn’t been attacked in decades and wasn’t currently at war, and made straight to the stockade, looking up at the solid, windowless walls as they negotiated the narrow alleyways.

 

“Only one way in and out of that sucka...” BA muttered and Face nodded.

 

“Yeah – that water jeep, now we just need to find where they leave it overnight.”

 

The streets were emptying, lit only by low voltage electric lamps that buzzed with insects and giant moths, as people moved into their houses or sat outside the various coffee shops and inns. Face realised that they were starting to attract attention to themselves and knew that if they didn’t find the jeep soon they would need to get off the streets and hunker down for the night, start looking again in daylight, which would put a serious dent in their timetable.      

 

“I’m sure it was in this quarter,” he told BA quietly as they walked up yet another long, thin alley, but it had been impossible to follow accurately from so far away.

 

BA stopped at the star shaped junction of five alleyways and turned slowly on the spot, looking back at the distant shadow of the jail as it rose into the darkening sky behind them. “Some of these ways aren’t wide enough for no jeep,” he reported thoughtfully, “and there’s no tracks.” Face looked at the smooth packed dirt, not a tyre track to be seen and almost kicked himself for missing something so basic.

 

“We should go back to the jail and start again,” he muttered, knowing that they didn’t have the time to do that now, knowing that it would look far, far too suspicious to be sneaking around outside the stockade at this time of night.

 

“Unless...” BA was still looking around, “There a fuel line come into this place anywhere?” he asked Face, his eyes narrowed in thought.

 

“Yeah, about two blocks over. You think...?” Face tailed off, considering, and BA shrugged.

 

“It’s where I’d keep it if it were me.”

 

They looked at each other, “Okay,” Face decided, “let’s do it. Ten minutes more, then we’ll have to get out of sight.” BA nodded, and hoping that he wouldn’t end up regretting not ducking out of sight now, Face started off back down the way they had come, fresh vigour in his step.   

 

And it really was that easy. Right next to the crude pump that was installed in the dirt and locked into a metal cage, stood the jeep with the huge water tank attached to the back. It was parked under a tarp, probably why Face hadn’t been able to spot it from the surrounding dunes, but otherwise unguarded and unsecured and, from their hiding place behind a low wall over to the right, Face and BA looked it over.

 

“You reckon we can both get underneath?” Face asked quietly and BA flattened himself to the ground, checking it out.

 

“Dunno,” he admitted cautiously, “gonna need a closer look.”

 

“Go,” Face nodded.

 

With a level of stealth that never failed to surprise Face, BA scuttled across the open ground and disappeared into the shadows under the jeep. The minutes crawled by, and, crouching in tense silence, he began to fear that there was a problem, just as BA re-emerged into the meagre light. “Well?” Face asked as soon as he’d flopped down at his side again.

 

“Gonna be tight,” BA reported, “but we’re on.” Face nodded grimly.

 

They wasted no more time getting into position, and within seven minutes their harnesses were securely clipped to the chassis of the jeep, meaning that they could stay suspended in relative safety and ease – didn’t mean it was comfortable though.

 

Face kept his handgun out, tucked securely into his robes and turned to BA in the almost complete black of the shadows. “Try and get some rest,” he ordered. “I’ll wake you up in two hours to switch.”

 

BA didn’t answer, but he did close his eyes and, incredibly, within five minutes, Face could hear the steady breathing that told him he was asleep. He adjusted his own position, trying to ease the way the webbing was biting into his back, and kept his eyes and ears open, ever alert for someone stumbling across their hiding place.

 

He needn’t have worried however, the night was quiet and still and allowed him the time for his thoughts to drift to Hannibal and wonder what he was doing right at this very moment. Despite what he’d said, it was strange to be here on an op without the boss. It was true, they’d done missions apart before, plenty of missions, but not in the last couple of years. For the last couple of years it had only been the two of them, until Murdock and BA of course, and as much as he loved Murdock, as much as he’d bonded with him like no other friend before, he couldn’t help wishing that they were back in the days of those two man ops, just him and the boss. Things were so much simpler then, they could share a sleeping bag without wondering who they were offending, they could be themselves, be free to touch, to look, even to fuck if the time was right, instead of always having to be so guarded.

 

Face sighed to himself as he recognised that, okay, maybe that wasn’t such a big issue with Murdock and BA around. Murdock seemed totally fine about the arrangement between Face and Hannibal, while BA had certainly never complained about it, although it was unfortunate he’d caught them at it in the kitchen once. No, if he were being honest with himself here, then the one thing that he didn’t like about the new, larger team, was sharing Hannibal’s attention.

 

His cheeks flushed at the realisation and he knew that this made him just about as immature and spoilt as he possibly could be – but in all honesty, it was the truth. Hannibal had been the first person ever to show a real interest in him, to value him because he wanted to, because he saw something in Face worth valuing. He went on from being the first person to value him to the person who’d valued him the most, who had consistently and doggedly defended him and believed in him, something that Face had experienced precious little of in the rest of his days. And so considering all of that, Face found sharing the man a little hard.

 

It was stupid, he knew it was. The initial panic which had started back in the hospital in Mexico when he’d feared that Murdock was going to step right into Face’s shoes – and Hannibal’s bed – had quickly faded to be left with the realisation that Hannibal may well have loved Murdock and BA as well as him, but he certainly loved them differently. Now Face wasn’t worried that the boss was going to go off him, swap him for a fresher model, but he still just didn’t like having to share.  Glancing over at BA as he snuffled quietly in his sleep, Face felt another rush of shame at his thoughts, and resolved to try harder in the future.

 

_____________________

 

The dawn broke clear and sharp as Face tried unsuccessfully to doze while BA kept watch. His thoughts had been with Hannibal all night long, wondering where he was, wondering how their side of the op was going, if they’d managed to find any trace of Markl in the slums and twisting side streets of the lower town, if he was sleeping any better without Face than Face was without him...

 

“We on LT,” BA’s quiet voice brought him instantly into full wakefulness and they shared a quick glance, each reassuring the other that they were ready.

 

Face cringed as dusty boots approached the jeep and the suspension bounced and creaked as two men climbed in either side. They talked softly together in Arabic, words far too quiet for Face to be able to make out and then the engine suddenly roared to life around them both, deafening it its proximity.

 

The drive to the stockade was fast and terrifying. Face was constantly worried that their straps would unravel and they’d be dropped to the ground, or even worse, run over. Or that they would drive over a furrow so deep they would be crushed between the hard baked ground and the underside of the car. Just at the point he was seriously beginning to doubt the sense in his plan, they slowed right down and with a pounding heart, Face realised that they were finally driving in through the heavy wooden doors of their destination.

 

____________________________

 

Hannibal lay flat on his belly on the brow of the sharp rise and looked out at the town spread below him like a child’s toy set. The sun was just clearing the top of the distant mountains, spreading its light out into the valley below and staining the sky with a delicate flush of pink. He followed the solid line of the town’s walls with his binoculars and let them settle on the starkly cube shaped stockade jammed up in the far eastern corner. He knew that that was Face’s target, had seen how hard it was to get in and out of, and wondered what the kid had come up with, if he’d managed to get himself in and if he was safe and well still. As he watched, the doors parted only wide enough to let in what was obviously a water vehicle, and then they instantly closed tight again and he sighed, wondering what on earth was so precious in there that they had to keep it so secure.

 

With a mental shake, he tore his gaze away from Face’s target and slid back down to the maze of side streets that was his own. He hated it when he and Face were apart like this; he knew it was irrational and that Face could more than look after himself, but even so, he preferred it when he could see the kid at all times, or at least be on the end of a comm. link to him. But he would just have to suck it up and get used to it. Russ seemed pretty keen on pushing the kid forward; if this mission went well, and Hannibal had no reason to think that it wouldn’t, then this would just be the start of many times when Face led his own unit, and anyway, right now he had his own mission objectives to achieve.

 

His binoculars had already found the narrow, twisting labyrinth of streets that made up the slum quarter of the town, inhabited by the lowest of the low, ‘ _Al Muhamasheen_ ’, The Marginalised Ones. Hannibal himself doubted that Yemen’s underclass had anything to do with Markl’s current disappearance, but he knew that it was a possibility that the scientist was being held there by another group, relying on the narrow streets and slum conditions to dissuade any searchers from finding him there, if indeed they _had_ realised just who was in their grasp once more.

 

It was going to be a difficult task, the streets were closely packed and had no real structure to them. They were full of temporary buildings, lean-tos and collapsed hovels and-

 

“It’s a waste of time. He’s not in there, but we could search all day without hope of finding him if he was. There’s no point us going down there.”

 

A low, sardonic voice cut into Hannibal’s thoughts and he turned around, twisting onto his back to look at the three men of his unit crouched in the sand a few metres behind him. Murdock, as ever at the start of an op, looked concerned but quietly focussed. If anything he’d been even more quiet on this op than any other they had been on to date, obviously missing the close bond he’d formed with BA and his easy friendship with Face. Then there was Carlton, one of the newest Rangers, keen and bright, still insisting on calling Hannibal, ‘sir’ or ‘Colonel’ all the time but definitely an asset, one for Russ to watch carefully. And finally Harker, crouched between the other two and currently meeting Hannibal’s eyes head on, totally unconcerned by the lack of respect his words had displayed.

 

Forcing back a sigh, Hannibal turned back to his recon, mentally filing that display of arrogance away for now, hoping that it was just the product of nerves and that Harker would settle down and remember his place, if not then Hannibal would need to remind him, and that was not the way he wanted this op to start out.

 

“Thank you for that succinct if defeatist summary, Captain,” he drawled over his shoulder, “but fortunately for Markl, the General doesn’t see it that way and so we will indeed go down there and do our job.”

 

“The General hasn’t seen that pit they call a town,” Harker spat in a derogatory voice, “We are wasting our time and army resources. We need to withdraw and tell the General it was a bum call.”

 

This time Hannibal couldn’t suppress the sigh he needed after those words, but he managed at least to keep it hidden from his men as he turned back; it seemed that Harker was going to push this all the way right now, and if that was what he wanted, then that is what Hannibal would provide, he just wondered at the sanity of the man for thinking it was a good idea.

 

“Didn’t you listen to General Morrison the other day, Harker?” he asked sharply. “After your appalling act of insubordination in his office? You, know, when you were pissed about Face getting a team and you not? When the General busted your ass and threw you off the mission...”        

 

Harker flushed, Murdock grinned and Carlton looked shocked beyond all measure.

 

“He put me back on again though,” Harker muttered, digging at the sand with the sheath of his knife.

 

“Only because we were a man down at the very last minute,” Hannibal shot back, “and you were the only one with nothing else on.” This time Murdock’s snigger was actually audible and it made Harker flush even more. Hannibal pressed his advantage. “When you have served even half as long and as well as General Morrison, or myself, or any of the other soldiers in this battalion, I will listen to your opinions, until then, you will shut up and follow orders like the soldier you are paid to be, otherwise you will find yourself on disciplinary charges quicker than you can pull out your pet lip. You understand me, sonny?”

 

If at all possible, Carlton was looking more and more horrified at Harker’s lack of respect as the seconds ticked on, but Harker, sadly, seemed oblivious. He lifted his watery blue eyes to meet Hannibal’s and the dislike, the sense of unfairness was clear for all to see. “I bet that’s not what you say to Peck though is it, _sir?_ I bet all he has to do is get down on his-”

 

But he didn’t manage to get any further than that. Both Hannibal and Murdock moved as his words started to spew unpleasantly across the sand, but Carlton was faster, diving forwards, grabbing Harker around the collar and pulling an arm back like a 1930’s English boxer. “You need to call a halt to your disrespectful words, sir!” he spat out in a voice that wavered a lot more than he probably wanted it to. “Or I will lay you out cold right now and happily take my punishment for striking a senior officer!”

 

Harker looked too shocked to respond while Hannibal and Murdock moved as one, Murdock dragging Harker to his feet and further away down the side of the dune, whilst Hannibal took hold of Carlton’s threatening fist and used it to turn him around.  “Alright there, Sergeant, take it easy now, no one is laying anyone out cold today.”

 

Carlton tore his furious gaze away from Harker’s retreating form and locked eyes with Hannibal. “But! He was being disrespectful, sir! To you and to Lieutenant Peck, sir!”

 

Hannibal smiled, but there was a hard edge to his eyes that Carlton couldn’t miss. “I know that,” he said steadily, “and believe me, that will be dealt with. But not now, and not like this.” He shook his head and clapped a large hand onto Carlton’s shoulder. “We’re a team out here, son. We need to start acting like one, alright? You leave Harker to me, I’ve dealt with pricks like him too many times to mention, alright?”

 

The younger Ranger nodded, but Hannibal could still see the outrage in his eyes, the need to see this put right.

 

“For now, I need a man to get closer to that wall, check out the entrance, how wide it is, how many guards, how many people get stopped and searched, that type of thing. You do that for me, Sergeant?”

 

Nodding furiously, Carlton drew himself up to his full height. “Yes, sir!” he barked sharply.

 

Refraining for now from reminding him to call him, ‘Hannibal’, Hannibal just nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man,” he responded, “get going and make it quick and quiet.”

 

Carlton saluted and instantly started making his way towards the base of the dunes while Hannibal turned to the other two men in his unit, determining to have this out with Harker right now while the boy was out of the way; he knew all of the info about the gate already, but also knew that Carlton needed to keep busy while Hannibal set a few things straight. Grimly he made his way over to the two Captains.

 

_____________________________

 

Face slid easily out of the narrow door at the back of the stockade along with a group of men who had been working in the kitchens. The long flowing robes they all wore were a blessing as they allowed him not only to conceal his weapons about his person, but also to hide as much of his relatively pale skin as he could, knowing that anyone who took a good look at him would instantly know he was an interloper.

 

The narrow door opened out into a narrow alleyway that twisted and turned before finally spilling open at the top end of the main square. Face frowned, so _that_ was why he’d never seen anyone enter the stockade on foot before, they obviously used this convoluted and easy to guard route to ensure that no one could sneak up on them. But now he was out, and he might not have actually seen Markl, but he was pretty sure that the guy was in there, and pretty sure why. All he had to do now was regroup with BA and get back to the rest of his unit, before wracking his brains to try and come up with a way to get Markl, and the agents he was with, out of _Badikh Jidar_ in one piece. 

 

The sun was low in the sky, just about to dip under the level of the city walls but it was still hot and Face could feel the way his western clothes stuck to him under the extra layer of robes, but he kept up the pace. He needed to get to the West gate in time to meet BA, the last thing he needed was the Corporal getting them both into trouble by wandering off looking for Face if he was a few minutes late. Plus he wanted to be there first, he wanted to look good for BA, try and prove that maybe he wasn’t the total incompetent that the man seemed to think he was.

 

It was closer than he thought and he arrived in the little square that framed the gateway just as the market was starting to pack up for the day. The chaos around him was perfect and allowed him the chance to squat down at the base of the walls, just to the left of the gate and watch the surrounding area carefully as he waited for BA’s arrival.

 

Maybe only ten minutes had passed before Face became aware of an approaching situation and slowly rose to his feet, eyes sliding to the alleyway directly across from him and getting a glimpse of a big man in flowing white robes just before the crowd closed in on him and took him to the ground. Instantly he was on the move, weaving purposefully through the throng, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had last seen the man who was obviously attempting to flee through the West gates. All Face had seen in that split second before he’d been swallowed up was the bulky build, nothing else, but deep down he knew who the man was, his fingers curled firmly on the butt of his handgun nestled snugly inside his robes and he pushed on, mind whirling as to how they could escape from the midst of all these people.

 

He arrived at the edge of the confrontation just in time to see the hapless captive, and it was, indeed, BA, hauled to his feet and dragged back the way he had come. Face felt his stomach contract with frustration as he realised the futility of trying something now; they were outnumbered a hundred to one, and BA’s hands were already tied behind his back. Face knew that he was the only chance that BA had of escape and, as such, knew that a tactical retreat was the only real option for now. With BA’s words accusing him of being a coward when they had first left Hannibal in that forest in Russia ringing in his ears, Face turned his back on his teammate and slid straight into the crowd.

 

__________________________

 

BA was tugged and hauled right back to where he had just come from and he let them pull him along, not willing to get into a fight with no back up and his hands tied behind his back. He was seething angry, with Face for not being there to help him out when he needed it, but also with himself for getting into this whole mess in the first place, and as the time ticked on and he was pulled closer and closer to the stockade, the irritation with Face slipped away to be replaced with a whole new level of self recrimination instead. Why had he even punched that guy in the first place? He was leaving – getting out of the stockade, intelligence safely gathered, and the guy had just surprised him, appeared suddenly from a side entrance and BA had reacted without thought. His cheeks flushed a little as he thought of Hannibal, how his CO was always telling him to use his brain as well as his brawn, to try and think his way out of a situation – and this, he supposed, was exactly why.

 

He was counting himself lucky that he hadn’t been beaten up any worse than the few kicks and punches that had landed his way in the scuffle. His captors didn’t seem in any particular rush to hurt him, if anything they all seemed fairly jovial and there was plenty of laughing and joking going on between them as they marched BA up to the hidden side door of the stockade. It was there, once the guy at the front had banged on the door and shouted loudly in Arabic, that BA understood the reasons for their good humour. A minute after the guard who had cracked the door open had stared hard at BA standing surrounded by white robed men in the alley, disappeared, another man came to the threshold and ran his dark, calculating eyes over BA’s bulk with an intensity that quite frankly made his skin crawl. Then he nodded, reached inside his robe and handed over a tightly furled wad of notes, which had BA’s captives chattering excitedly in obvious glee.

 

He was handed over to the guards who marched him down to the cellar he had, only hours before, snuck around on his intelligence gathering mission, before stripping off his robes, pocketing his weapons, chaining his wrists to a metal hook concreted into the ground and leaving him to consider his fate along with the other many, _many_ men who were already in there.

 

_____________________

 

It was a long night. Despite his lack of sleep from the night before, BA, not surprisingly, found it hard to rest in the dungeon of _Badikh Jidar’s_ stockade. It was a turn of events that he was struggling to get his head around, the exchange of money, the cursory search he’d been subjected to, the way that no one had raised an eyebrow at the automatic side-arm they took off him. It was as if they weren’t even in the slightest bit interested in who he was or why he was there, just wanted to get him locked up with all the others as fast as possible.

 

And there were a lot of others, which was something else that had struck him when he’d been looking around earlier in the afternoon. He’d taken the ground floor and the dungeon, while Face had done the top floors and BA had been fairly certain he’d eyeballed not only Markl chained up down here, but also the three CIA operatives as well. In fact, if he strained forward to the extent of his chains he could just about see the top of Markl’s bent head.

 

“You’ll not get away my friend,” a quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, “even strength like yours will not move these rings.”

 

BA quickly glanced at the speaker, a man barely visible in the shadows of his robes, to the iron ring that had obviously been freshly concreted into the ground at his feet, then back to the speaker. “Yeah? You seem to know a lot about it.”

 

The man shrugged and shifted his position against the wall, a luxury that BA, in the middle of the cavernous space, didn’t have. “I have had plenty of time to look about me.”

 

Unwilling to bring attention to Markl, BA turned his back on the German and instead tried to peer into the gloom to get a good look at the other man’s features. “You been here long?” he asked gruffly.

 

Another shrug. “It’s hard to tell. Long enough.”

 

Silence fell on them again, broken only by the odd rasping snore or groan from one of their fellow inmates. “What they want with us, man?” BA eventually asked, the question burning into his mouth despite his desire to have as little to do with anyone in here as possible.

 

For a long moment there was no answer, and BA was just starting to think that his informer had slid into sleep when he stirred slightly, and in a voice so low that BA had to hold his breath to hear it, he answered. “You don’t know?”

 

BA sighed, but the ‘Murdockness’ of that question was like a kick in his chest. “Wouldna asked if I knew, would I?” he hissed back.

 

There was another long silence, and BA was ready to turn his back on the now silent figure, not in the mood for games, but then the voice came back, tinged in roughness this time. “We, my friend,” he said sadly, “are here to be traded. Dispensable labourers for the local tribes. Sold to the highest bidder at first light.”

 

For a second, BA was speechless. Traded? He was going to be _traded_? Like a damn _animal_?? As much as he knew that this practice persisted in the more remote corners of the world, he sure as hell had never considered he would fall into it himself.

 

All he could do was stare in shock, which seemed to amuse his informer no end. “You really didn’t know...” he remarked casually. “Well, who’d have thought it? Now you do know, you going to sleep any better?”

 

BA ignored him, tugging at the iron ring instead, despite its obvious strength. “Yeah, well, they got another thing coming if they think they’re selling me!” he muttered fiercely, but the man at his side only let out a long breath and turned his back obviously getting as comfortable as he could.

 

“Save your strength for the march across the desert, my friend,” he said bitterly. “You think you are special somehow? That you will avoid the fate of the rest of us? There must be two hundred men and boys in this stockade tonight, they have been collecting us for weeks. And by this time tomorrow we’ll all be gone, the ones who aren’t bought are shot – so you’d better hope you do end up being traded, it’s that or food for the crows.”

 

BA just stared at him in horrified shock.

 

_____________________

 

It was still dark when all the prisoners were roused and linked up. Their wrists, fastened together in front of their bodies, were unlocked from the ground and quickly attached to a loop of chain around the waist of the man in front - all with the guns trained on them by the many smiling guards. BA soon found himself separated from his ‘friend’ from the night before and pulled forwards until he was only five men from the front of the line. The one person who did object and make a break for the door was quickly halted by a stream of bullets in his back, which made BA realise that as much as he was desperate to get away, he would have to wait for a better chance, ride his luck later rather than try it here.

 

Not for the first time since this mission started, he wished he was on Hannibal’s team rather than Face’s. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite as bad as BA first thought he was, and maybe BA had been a little out of order the way he’d ragged him in Russia, but the hard truth of the matter was that he didn’t trust the guy – not at all. If he’d been with Hannibal, apart from the probability that he wouldn’t have been caught in the first place, chances are he would have been rescued by now. Hannibal Smith was a living legend, a giant in the world of the Rangers, and he’d been a hero of BA’s for many years before he’d finally met the man. In BA’s eyes there was nothing he couldn’t do, he trusted him with every single molecule in his being.

 

Face, however – was different. He might have been good enough at his job, he might have been a damn fine procurement officer, he might have been a superb marksman, but the truth of the matter was he was flaky, he was emotional, and he was just too damn good at lying for BA to be comfortable with him. Plus, and this was a huge factor, BA still felt that Hannibal Smith deserved more than Face, more from an XO, and more from a ‘partner’ or however it was they liked to define themselves. More than he would ever get from Face, and it worried him that Hannibal himself just couldn’t see it, that he was blinded by Face’s pretty features and even prettier lies and that was only going to end up in heartache for the man he still considered his hero.

 

So, when it came down to it, BA had no faith at all that Face was going to get him out of this one. His only hope was that the LT had realised, finally, that he was out of his depth and called the boss in to help out, otherwise, BA was on his own, trapped with two hundred other prisoners, plenty of keyed up gun toting guards and about to be traded to one of the most notorious tribes in the Yemen. He’d certainly had better days.

 

_______________

 

They were marched quickly through the streets until they reached the main square, and herded behind bars at the far side. With a knot in his stomach, BA let his eyes flick around the square, hoping beyond hope for a sight of some friendly face about to bust him out, but instead, seeing the selling platform, the vendors trading food and drinks, the obligatory hens pecking through the straw covered ground, and the hundreds of white robed tribesmen, filing steadily into the square, their eyes on the cages, already pointing out potential purchases.

 

BA felt sick and turned away from the spectacle, instead watching his fellow prisoners as they were herded into the cages that ran around the entire perimeter of the square. His companion from the night before had been right when he’d said that there were in the region of two hundred men in the stockade; in fact BA’s quick census put that figure at nearer two twenty, and such a diverse bunch of prisoners as he had never seen before. There were representatives of every age from boys no more than twelve years old, a sight that made BA’s temper ignite deep within him, to old, old men who looked like they wouldn’t survive their time in the sun soaked cages, never mind a march across the desert. There were men of every race and creed and colour, with plenty of fair-skinned prisoners in western clothes currently looking at the rising sun with considerable apprehension. BA wondered if they were journalists, backpackers or students, but they certainly helped Markl and the three CIA agents blend in with the general crowd. There were no women, a fact that relieved BA no end, but he realised that it probably didn’t mean anything – they probably just sold all the women on another day...

 

The sun had cleared the top of the first cages and was making its way across the open square by the time that the first unlucky prisoner had been hauled up onto the selling platform. The remaining men in the cages fell silent; their eyes on the struggling, panicked unfortunate, whose stricken features were in sharp contrast to the hordes of noisy tribesmen, obviously looking forward to the morning to come.

 

That first sale didn’t take long at all, the auctioneer rattled through the bidding at a lightening pace and BA found it almost impossible to follow who was willing to pay what as it all just appeared as a blur of noise and commotion. It was impossible to miss the second that the actual sale had been made, however, as the man on the platform jumped with the rapping on the auctioneer’s stone onto the side of the cage. It was at that point he sprang to life, alternatively pleading with his captives and jerking frantically at his chains, trying to escape even as his wrists were bound again and again in thin nylon cord, the end of which was given to the successful bidder, and the man, a heavily built, obviously local, man in his late twenties was roughly hauled down the steps, soon to be swallowed up by the gleeful crowd.

 

By the time BA, trying hard to choke down the bile in his throat, looked back at the platform, they already had the next man up there, a young boy, maybe aged around seventeen who appeared to be praying hard even as the bidding started around him. BA shook his head, “Where are you, Faceman?” he muttered. “If ever there was a time you wanted to prove to me that you’re more than window dressing now would be it...” But no one, apart from the surly looking man at his left seemed to hear him.

 

The first four sales went by in less than ten minutes and soon it was BA’s turn to be dragged onto the platform, suffering the indignity of being held at gunpoint by his own sidearm while his chains were attached to the ring in the centre of the wooden surface. And then the bidding began and yet again BA was astounded at the speed and total confusion around him, how one man could understand who was bidding and who was shouting ridicule or encouragement he couldn’t be sure.  He tried to tune it all out, concentrating instead on his one and only chance to escape. He’d watched the four previous sales carefully and noted that, in two of them, the man who was unlocking the chains did so ever so slightly before the man who applied the nylon rope provided by the purchaser; he knew that _that_ was his only hope, that he would be able to move in the split second of freedom, grab the firearm from the guard next to him, take him out and get out of the way before the bullets came his way. It was a plan, but BA was nowhere near naive enough to think it was a good one, or one with much chance of success.

 

He stood his ground and widened his stance staring out at the assembled hordes in front of him, every one of them dressed in the long robes that hid most of their faces and all of their bodies and finally acknowledged that no help was coming his way. There was no sign of Face, no sign of the boss, which meant that Face hadn’t even told him of BA’s predicament, and no sign of freedom unless he made it happen himself. He took a deep breath, feeling the serenity of resolution wash over him. Hannibal had told him once that he needed to accept death as a possibility, only once he had done that could he function the way he needed to in order to survive. He did that now and let that fatalistic calmness fill him – he would get himself out of here, or he would die trying.

 

A sudden roar from the crowd met his ears and he looked down at where a new bidder had stepped forward. This man, still invisible to BA through the robes he wore, was, none-the-less, obviously richer than his fellow bidders. His robes were of clean, white linen edged in purple and gold, his headdress was studded with tiny precious stones in various colours and his hand, the one that BA could see as it was raised to bid, was encrusted with rings. The yelling hordes seemed to notice all of this as well and BA realised that this must have marked the man out as a person of some importance as everyone stepped away a little, gave him that little bit of room in which to stand on his own. BA wondered if it would be better or worse to be bought by a man of standing and money, but then remembered that he had no intention of being bought by _anyone_ , ever, and so it didn’t matter. He held his ground as the bidding went on.

 

And it did go on, BA of course had no knowledge of the language that was being used in the auction, but it was obvious from the looks on the faces of the guards and the shouts of the crowd that he was about to fetch a rare old price. The bidding had narrowed to two parties now, the man with the rings and a huge, bearded grubby looking man who was flanked by three or four equally mean eyed accomplices. BA straightened his stance and peered down at the ringed man who was standing directly in front of him, trying to see through the drawn down headdress, trying to discern anything about the man who was so keen on purchasing him.

 

Suddenly, the whole square erupted in a loud exclamation of noise, the bearded man threw up his arms and turned away in disgust, the auctioneer slammed his stone against the side of the cage, and BA realised that he’d been sold.

 

Before he knew it, his one moment of possible freedom was there – and gone, as the guards wrapped his wrists securely in the thin nylon cord even before they had produced a key to unlock his chains. He pondered for a moment, wondering if it would be better to chance his arm once his new ‘owner’ had led him away, but then decided against it, determined that he would stay true to his principle and go down fighting rather than let himself be bought.

 

Just at that moment, the man with the rings stepped forward, a huge roll of notes in his fist and as he passed BA to give them to the auctioneer, he twisted his head and BA, arrogant sneer firmly in place, turned to stare back.

 

It was lucky that no one was really paying the new slave much attention, the next unfortunate prisoner was being brought forward and the crowd had already moved on, otherwise someone might have seen the way that, just for a moment, BA’s eyes widened in shock and recognition as he saw two unmistakable bright blue irises peering back at him from deep in the folds of the local headdress. He felt a smile start to tug at the corners of his mouth and let his head drop, content on playing the meek and humble slave now, and allowing Face to get them both the hell out of there.

 

Seconds ticked on as the auctioneer insisted on giving Face a receipt and BA stood still, desperate to be off now, and struggling to contain his impatience. And then, just as they were ready, as Face had reached out and taken hold of the nylon cord and bidding had already started on the next man, just as they both thought they’d done it – there was a shout from the back of the square.

 

At first no one looked, the square was noisy enough as it was and plenty of people were shouting, but the people at the back had turned and it was their laughter that caught the attention of everyone else, including BA. He looked up, feeling Face tugging him onwards with steady pressure on the cord and he instantly knew that what he could see was not good. The man who had shouted was currently standing in the archway at the back of the square, pointing frantically forward and shouting loudly and insistently in the local language. That was all distracting enough, but what had made BA worry and had pulled the laughter from the rest of the crowd was none of that at all, no it was the fact that, apart from a pair of obviously silk shorts, the man was butt naked.   

 

After that everything seemed to move at once. Face dropped his hold of the nylon rope, springing up onto the top of the cages even as he pulled his side arm out and started shooting, the report of the gun echoing around and around the thick walls of the square. He didn’t seem to be aiming at the guards however, BA thought as he joined in the fray, swinging his joined wrists around to take out the guy next to him, the one who had taken his own gun, and just at the moment that the guards suddenly remembered their own firearms, the gates to the cages swung open and the inmates started to shuffle awkwardly out, and Face’s plan became clearer.

 

BA was on his knees, trying to shift the dead weight of the cold-clocked guard with his still bound hands, and wishing the prisoners in the cages would get a move on in their bid for freedom, when he felt the solid thump of a gun butt on the back of his neck. For a second he sagged and then caught himself and exploded upwards, smashing his fists into the face of the guard who had attacked him, just in time to see Face take a running leap up onto the sloping roof of the surrounding buildings. Bullets followed him, many bullets, raking up the wall, plaster exploding in their wake and with an awkward twist, the lieutenant disappeared from view, shredded straw thrown up all around him from where the bullets now tore through the thatched roof. BA swallowed hard, refused to acknowledge what that might mean, especially when Face didn’t appear back in his line of sight, and instead concentrated on taking down as many of the guards around him as possible.

 

He was fairly successful, swing after swing of his huge fists taking out guard after guard, but then there was a solid blow to the side of his head and he stumbled, blinking sweat and disorientation from his eyes and turned as the huge bearded guy leered down at him. With lightening fast reactions, BA swung his fists around in a massive arc, feeling the satisfying thump of flesh on flesh, but just as he stepped in for the killer blow, there was another crack to the back of his neck and by the time he’d dropped to his knees he was out cold. 

 

____________________

 

Consciousness came back slowly, drip by drip, sense by sense. First came the sounds, the muted voices, the clanging and the moaning, then came the sharp pain in his head and his wrists. Next was the cold that seemed to spread right through his body until it settled as ice in his feet, and finally, as he blinked reluctant eyes open, his vision, and he sighed at the sight of the underground prison once more, still cold and dark, and still full of chained and bowed potential slaves. He hung his head; this nightmare just went on and on.

 

A sudden thought struck him and he lifted his aching head, taking in the way he was chained to the wall this time by throbbing wrists, his feet, numb and cold even in his boots, barely scraping the floor, but he ignored all of that for now, pushed it to once side as he scanned the faces of those around him, searching desperately for Face. His first, cursory glance around found nothing, so he blinked around his headache and tried to banish the edges of blurring from his vision as he tried again, the image of Face diving over that roof, bullets following him, burned into his mind.

 

So, he’d been wrong about Face, he _had_ come back, in fact he’d never abandoned BA to his fate in the first place, just like he’d never abandoned the boss back in Russia. Seems he’d come back with an outlandish con in place rather than a simple, trustworthy smash and grab, but he supposed he must have had his reasons, whatever they were.

 

BA sighed, he’d promised Hannibal after Russia that he would put a lid on the insubordination with Face, and he had done, he knew he had. He’d followed orders without complaint or backchat even if it did look like Face was just waiting for him to start up all the time. And he’d promised Murdock that he would give Face a chance, try to see whatever it was that Murdock saw, and again he’d tried, he really had and in a way, he’d even been successful. Yes, he could see all the skills the man had, he could see why other people liked him, he’d even started to see some of the self-doubts and anxiety that Murdock told him lurked behind the smile, but the cold hard fact of the matter was that the trust still wasn’t there.

 

But maybe, now, BA wanted it, maybe _that_ was a change he could be proud to tell Murdock this time. Maybe realising that Face _had_ come back for him had been a relief instead of a shock, maybe, at last, he was ready to trust – just needed that final shove. While he thought, his eyes, rapidly adapting to the dark, continued to flick from face to face, but never actually found the one they were looking for.

 

A hoarse chuckle from his left caught his attention and he looked around, eyes narrowing as he saw his friend from the first night, huddled down in his usual corner, his head dress thrown back this time, showing off his wrinkled, weather beaten face and the large bruise currently standing out in his cheek.

 

“If you are looking for your friend, you are wasting your time,” he muttered once BA’s eyes had picked him out in the gloom.

 

“My friend?” BA countered, knowing that _that_ was not a relationship that the guards needed to know about. “That thief that tried to buy me? He aint no friend of mine!”

 

The man on the floor considered him for a few moments before turning away. “That’s what the guards thought,” he said softly, “that you were just taking advantage of the confusion. That’s why they have let you live to be sold another day. Same can’t be said for the thief though.”

 

Silence fell between them and BA forced himself to be quiet and still, forced himself not to react at all to those words even though his mouth was suddenly dry and his stomach was twisting like a sea serpent. “Yeah?” he eventually pushed out in as much of a nonchalant voice as possible, “They not gonna make much money on him?”

 

The older man laughed, a dry, bitter laugh. “No. You cross the tribal leaders, and nothing but death is good enough for you.”

 

BA forced a swallow. “They gonna kill him then?”

 

“Already have,” his informant told him, turning into the wall and closing his eyes. “After they’d stamped on the little revolution his appearance caused and rounded all the slaves back up, they held his execution in the square instead. Made it last all day, we could hear him screaming down here. His head’s on a spike now, the guards said, so you can see for yourself when you get sold again tomorrow.”

 

Silence fell, a cold, oppressive, horrific silence and BA was relieved beyond words that his neighbour had decided to try and sleep, meant he could at least attempt to digest the words that he’d just heard. Face was dead? They’d caught him after the failed rescue attempt and killed him while BA slept, unaware, down here? His cheeks flushed with shame, his stomach churned with horror, his muscles burned with impotence and all he could think was how much he’d let Hannibal down, let his unit down – let Face down.

 

Hannibal... He closed his eyes at the thought of the man he looked up to, the man who was his saviour and his hero, what would be his reaction to finding out what had happened to Face? Would he blame BA for being caught in the first place? For not looking out for his CO the way he should have done? And what of Face himself? That sick churning intensified. He didn’t deserve that, not for risking so much to try and free BA, not for just doing his job and trying to be the best he could. BA closed his eyes against the sting of tears, realising too late that he’d been so worried about not trusting Face, not liking him, not understanding him – that he’d never even realised that it was already starting, the bond, the fellowship, the _brotherhood_ , was already forming. Why else would Sharkie’s inattention to Face’s briefing have bothered him so much? Why else would it only sadden him every time Face felt the need to lash out in defence of a dig that wasn’t there? He bowed his head as he felt a tear force its way out from under his closed lids. He’d screwed up here, badly; it wasn’t him that didn’t trust Face, it was Face that didn’t trust him. And every minute that Face had spent out there this afternoon, screaming until his heart gave out for help that never came, must have just reinforced that lack of trust, that feeling of abandonment. BA hung his head – he was a failure.

 

____________________________

 

The night passed in a blur of self-recrimination and sharp, painful, loss. In amongst his self-loathing and regrets over the way he’d handled his relationship with his lieutenant, he had snippets of additional agony as he thought of the partner that Hannibal had lost, the friend that Murdock had lost, and how unbearable their pain would be. He wondered if Hannibal knew yet, doubted it since the town was still standing, and thought of what the old man had said, about Face’s head being on a spike in the square and prayed that _that_ wouldn’t be the way that Murdock and Hannibal found out.

 

He tried to rouse some sense of outrage, some blinding desire for revenge that would see him rip these chains from the wall and take the place apart brick by brick in retaliation for Face’s death, but he couldn’t, he was empty and cold inside and all he could think of was the Ranger code, and how he’d failed at the promise he’d not only sworn, but totally believed in.

 

Eventually the guards came back, and like yesterday, chained all the prisoners together. BA slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, as he felt the blood rushing painfully into his arms and the feeling returning to his cold, numb, feet. He allowed himself to be led, as quiet as a lamb, up into the early morning sunshine, and it was only when he was taken straight to the platform rather than the cages, that he realised he was first in line, that the guards probably wanted him getting rid of before he could cause any more trouble.

 

The sun was just clearing the tops of the walls once more and BA forced his head up to look at all the white robed potential purchasers jostling for space in front of him. He raised his eyes, determined to stand like a man and his gaze inadvertently settled on the silhouette of a severed head, mounted on spike on top of the walls, right above the archway that Face’s victim had staggered into almost twenty-four hours ago, changing the course of all of their lives forever. He wanted to look away, but he forced himself not to, to face what had happened, what he’d allowed to happen and waited for the bidding to start. 

 

It was slower than yesterday, but the large man with the beard was there again, this time sporting a few facial injuries in addition to his hair and BA felt a quick flash of savage pleasure at his one success from the day before.

 

Slowly, the bidding intensified, and BA wondered if his show yesterday up on the platform had made him an even more valuable prize. He tried to tune it all out and finally let his head drop, so, so fed up of everything his eyes could see. It was then that he felt it, the smallest of vibrations right next to his left foot and he flicked his eyes over, his heart stuttering at the neat little bullet hole he saw punched through the wood.

 

In the space of a second, his brain made some pretty quick connections; no sound - suppressed rifle, accurate shot - skilled marksman, oblivious crowd - covert operation... and as carefully as he could, he stretched his chained wrists as high as possible, getting them almost at chest height before stepping back and yanking his hands apart.

 

The shot was instantaneous, and even though BA was expecting it, he had to force himself to hold his ground as it threw his arms apart in a blast of shattered iron. The guards and potential bidders who were surrounding the stage did not have the luxury of such anticipation, however, and they all dived for cover as BA staggered to keep his feet and start to make a run for it. All but one tribesman, that was, and the corporal’s eyes were immediately drawn to the robed man standing directly in front of him who reached out and grabbed BA’s wrist, tugging him off the raised platform and into the huddled crowd after a quick flash of pale skin and ginger hair had the big guy’s pulse hammering in relief.

 

Automatic gunfire, raining down on them all from the same vantage point as the original shots, had the few brave souls who were starting to climb to their feet diving for cover once again, and as Colly dragged BA through the crush of terrified bidders and confused guards, he craned his neck, trying to see who was up there, who was covering their escape. He only had chance to pick out a familiar looking six foot four frame standing on the city walls not eight feet from that damn severed head, before he was shoved forward and a white robe thrown over his head.

 

“Come on BA, man!” Colly hissed, yanking the cotton down over grubby combats, “Get with it and give me a fucking hand here!”

 

At last BA snapped into action, pulling the robe into place and taking off after Colly down a narrow side street, leaving the chaos and the sounds of more than one automatic weapon behind them in the square. Together, the two of them ran on, rounding a corner just as another robe wearing, machine gun toting figure stepped out on them. BA automatically tensed and felt his fists clench up ready for action, but the man just pulled his headdress off, revelling Sharkie’s dark, serious eyes and the gun was quickly tossed in BA’s direction.

 

“Hurry up!” he muttered, gesturing to a huge, blackened bread oven, currently cold and empty, that was built into the walls of what must have been a bakery. “Hannibal can’t hold them in there for long!”

 

 _Hannibal_ , BA thought as he ducked into the blackness to find a rope dangling in his face. He’d thought that was the boss up there on the walls and BA’s stomach knotted and churned as he thought of how close he’d been standing to Face’s severed head... He threw the gun over his shoulder and started to climb knowing that Sharkie was wrong – Hannibal wouldn’t just hold them all in that square, for what they had done to his boy, he’d shoot them all dead.

 

Hand over hand he pulled himself up through the chimney, aiming for the square of blue sky right at the top, while someone, Sharkie presumably, held the rope securely at the bottom. He’d gone about three quarters of the way up, could smell the fresh air coming in through the opening, when he heard shouting down in the street below. He stopped, feet jammed together on the rope, chin tucked in tightly as he strained to see what was happening. He could see the figure below him and waited, wondering if he should drop back down to help, and then they moved looking upwards and Sharkie’s voice drifted up the channel.

 

“Keep going!” he hissed, already tucking his gun away, “They’re not looking for us, we’ll meet you back where the gear is stashed!”

 

BA wanted to object, but before he had the chance, Sharkie ducked out of sight and he was left alone. For a second he wavered, then, realising that maybe his face _was_ a little too familiar in the town right then, shifted his balance and started climbing once more.

 

He was almost at the top, was just adjusting his grip to reach up and grab the brim of the chimney, when a hand suddenly appeared, reaching down towards him, its owner a stark silhouette against the bright blue sky. BA didn’t pause for a moment, but reached up and grabbed, kicking with his feet against the hard baked sides as he scrambled and slipped up the last few feet.

 

The second he landed on the flat stone tiles of the roof, however, he was dragged straight back onto his feet and his helper took off running once more, keeping low, his dirty white robes billowing in the slight breeze, his own Ranger standard gun grasped tightly in his hands. BA didn’t stop to ask questions or share plans, he simply swung his gun down off his shoulder, ducked as far down as he could, and took off after his guide, wondering if the man was part mountain goat as he covered the rooftops so quickly and nimbly.

 

They ran for almost fifteen minutes, and BA was dripping in sweat by the time they lowered themselves down from the rooftops on to the top of a lorry that was parked just outside the city walls. All around them they had heard the sounds of gunfire and fierce battle and BA wondered if Hannibal had pulled in all the teams in order to wreak a terrible revenge for Face’s death. He shuddered once again as he thought of that head on its bloody spike, and savagely stamped down on the surge of guilt he felt when he thought of how his LT had suffered, simply for trying to help BA escape.

 

It _wasn’t_ his fault, BA reminded himself as he dropped to the dusty ground and immediately made for the road heading away from the town, Face knew the risks, knew what he was doing every time he went on an op. It was a fact of life for them as Rangers, they all knew that, knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be coming home, that a horrible death may lurk just around every corner... Face knew that, BA knew that – so why the hell did he feel so damn guilty?

 

They’d reached the road now, packed with semi-panicked locals hurrying away from the now sporadic gunfire behind them, herding their goats and camels and children into the relative safety of the desert, and BA finally had the chance to look over at his guide, currently cutting a swathe through the people in front of them, and wonder who it was. It wasn’t Murdock that was for sure, and that was a disappointment. Right about now, Murdock was the only person BA actually _wanted_ to see. As much as he moaned about the guy, as much as they constantly bickered and fought, there was something there that drew BA in, something that made them the same, despite how very different they were, and Murdock was the one person who was always guaranteed to make him feel better, no matter what the circumstances. But maybe it was best that his guide _wasn’t_ the Captain, maybe this business with Face would be one push too far for them to cope with. Murdock could tell that the two of them were still struggling with their relationship – what if he thought BA had let this happen on _purpose_? Yet again the big man’s gut heaved, could Murdock ever forgive him for not saving Face’s life?

 

The crowd was thinning now, the pace of the two Rangers outstripping even the most frightened of the tribe’s folk and BA finally drew up alongside his rescuer. “Hey man,” he said, in a voice as quiet as he could make it whilst still being heard. “Thanks for getting me out of there...” There was no response, not a glimmer of reaction from the man who was still staring straight ahead, his pace fast and his legs stretching out, and BA frowned. “Hey?” he repeated, louder this time. “You hear me? I’m talking to you!”

 

“I heard you!” his companion whirled on his feet until he was facing BA and the big guy drew back, eyes wide as he saw what was beneath the white cowl. “And I’m sorry, right, BA? So fucking sorry that I couldn’t do a better job, that I couldn’t plan better, guess better, see the fucking future better! I’m sorry you got caught, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out – sometimes I’m so fucking sorry I was even born!” BA just stared and there was a long breath drawn in underneath the hood followed by a quiet, resigned, “I’m sorry you got caught, man... I’m just – I’m just not Hannibal – alright?”

 

Suddenly BA jumped into life, surging forward and flinging his arms around the stunned man on the track in front of him. “Jesus! Man! Face! Shit!” he drew back, relief warring with disbelief warring with embarrassment at his emotional reaction, but just couldn’t he stop the laugh from bubbling out of him. “I thought you were dead!”

 

He didn’t really know what he expected from Face at those words – shock, understanding, amusement – but what he hadn’t expected was what he got, the guilty flush to Face’s cheeks, the dropping of his head as he turned away to continue putting distance between themselves and the town. “No,” he said shortly as he stalked away, “that wasn’t me. They knew damn well that wasn’t me – that was just some poor guy they plucked outta the cells, someone they could make an example out of, that’s all.” They walked in silence for a few seconds, BA absorbing those words before Face added. “And I couldn’t save him either.”

 

BA grabbed his arm, hauling him to a standstill and yanked him around until they were eye to eye. “Cut that out,” he said, hard and quiet. “It weren’t your fault I got caught, it weren’t your fault that guy turned up in his pants when he did,” Face rolled his eyes, clearly in disagreement, “and it _was_ you that hauled my ass outta that chimney today!” then another thought suddenly struck home, “And I bet it was you took those shots when I was on that platform just now as well, right?” he asked and frowned at Face’s reluctant nod. “You might not be the boss, Face, but don’t go running yourself into the ground – you’re good at what you do and don’t you let anyone tell you different!” With that he turned and stalked off, letting out a surreptitious sigh of relief as he felt more than heard Face fall into step beside him. 

 

____________________ 

 

They continued in silence until Face felt they’d back tracked along the road for far enough, then, just as the sun was starting on its downwards journey, they cut away from the crowd and headed off into the dunes, hoping to get back to their makeshift camp before night fell.

 

They made it as well, speaking only to share the single bottle of water they had between them, knowing that more awaited when they reached their stash of equipment, but BA’s heart sank the minute they crested the final dune and found Colly and Sharkie waiting for them.

 

“Fucking hell...” Face muttered and broke into a jog through the soft sand of the dune while BA, probably wisely in the circumstances, cut a more sedate pace behind him.

 

“What the hell happened here?” Face’s irate voice carried easily in the silence of the desert, but Sharkie’s muttered replies were less easy to discern. By the time BA arrived at the scene to complete the team however, it was obvious that no matter what had actually happened, life for the next few days was going to be very, _very_ tough.

 

“You saw no one at all?” Face was asking as BA drew up alongside him. “No tracks? No signs at all?”

 

It was Colly who answered  this time, his face red and his lips burnt from his day in the sun, his short, red hair sticking up in damp sweat spikes. “No,” he answered calmly but in a voice that made BA think it wasn’t the first time that Face had been given this answer. “We got back about thirty minutes before you and there wasn’t a sign of anyone, just this, all the gear – trashed.”

 

His words brought the attention of everyone back to the piles of ruined equipment strewn out all over the sand, MREs shredded open, water skins drained, both GPS units smashed, the sat. phone and the radios similarly ruined. “Where’s the ammo?” Face asked quietly while BA crouched to pick up two halves of one of the radios, inspecting them carefully.    

 

“No idea,” Colly answered flatly. “Bet the bastards took it all.”

 

Face swore again and kicked out at an empty water skin, wondering what the hell he had done to piss off the gods in heaven this time. “Okay,” he said finally, feeling the eyes of his team upon him and knowing that BA was just waiting to see if he lost his cool. “Full inventory. Let’s see what we can salvage from all this.”

 

In silence the whole team set to work as the light faded rapidly around them. Face’s head was pounding from the raging thirst that was tearing up his throat and his jaw ached from the tension he could feel there, but he knew that the survival, or otherwise, of the men under his command depended on what they could rescue from the sands of the desert.

 

They’d been working for less than fifteen minutes and were obviously using up the very last rays of sun from the day, when a noise behind them had them spinning, as one, to level their guns at the sound as Face belatedly realised he’d not set a perimeter guard.

 

Stressed as they all were, it was fortunate that the four of them were in control enough not to pull the triggers on their guns, however, as they found themselves all drawing aim on a dishevelled and nervous looking Captain Harker.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa boys!” he called out, hands immediately going out to the sides. “Hold your fire! Get a grip of your unit here, Peck!”

 

Face’s eyes narrowed, but he gave the order to stand down, even as he kept his own gun loosely trained on the newcomer. “What did you expect, Ged?” he hissed lethally, “Creeping around in the fucking dark like that! Where’s the rest of your unit?” Face hated himself for the frantic, hopeful way his heart had started pounding when he thought that Hannibal might just be over the top of that next dune...

 

Unfortunately, Harker just flushed, his arms dropping to his sides as he made his way closer to their camp. “I don’t know,” he ground out. “We were separated covering your ass out of _Badikh Jidar_ , I’ve lost my pack, and so can’t raise them on the comms.”

 

That bright little spark of hope fluttered and died in Face’s heart and was replaced by a gnawing concern instead. “But they all got out okay?” he asked instead, sensing BA’s keen interest in the answer as well.

 

For a second Harker didn’t reply, just stared flatly at Face before repeating, “I don’t know. We were separated covering your ass out of _Badikh Jidar_ , I’ve lost my pack, and so can’t raise them on the comms. Didn’t you fucking _listen_?”

 

“You watch your mouth, sucka!” BA warned even as Face opened his mouth to issue a similar warning. “Face outranks you on this op, and if you can’t remember that, maybe my fist oughta remind you!”

 

Swallowing down the outright shock at BA leaping to his defence like that, Face stepped forward, patting the big guy’s shoulder as he passed. “You have no reason to believe that anyone in your team was compromised?” he asked Harker quietly and felt BA’s simmering presence behind him even as he saw Harker’s eyes nervously flick over his shoulder.

 

“No,” came the muted reply. “Last I saw they were all fine.”

 

Face nodded, that was the best he was going to get here and he knew it. “So how’d you find us?” he asked instead.

 

Harker shrugged and Face’s eyes narrowed; reading body language was something he was good at, very good at, and Harker’s language was screaming _liar!_ at him, loud and very clear. “Just lucky I guess,” came the carefully delivered reply. “Plus, this is a pretty obvious place to set up camp, first place I looked...”

 

The smug smile hardly had chance to settle on his features before he was flat on his back in the sand, the blade of Face’s knife at his throat, the weight of his fellow Ranger pinning him down. “Hey! Faceman! What gives!” Colly’s protests were ignored as Face’s furious eyes latched onto Harker’s terrified ones.

 

“Bull. Shit,” Face muttered meaningfully, his mind recoiling at the unlikely coincidence of Harker being the _second_ person to stumble across their camp that evening. “You knew we were here. You ditched Hannibal on purpose to follow us. You trashed the camp and hid the ammo. You’re fucking dead, man.”

 

If anything, Harker suddenly looked even more scared and his frantic attempts to get free took on another level. “What?!” he shouted, trying unsuccessfully to buck Face’s weight off him. “Are you fucking _crazy_?” He looked up at Colly who had taken a step closer to them both. “Get him the hell _off_ me soldier!” he spat, “And that’s an order!”

 

Colly took another step in, his face creased in anxiety, “Face...” he warned quietly, but Face chose to ignore him, even as Sharkie stepped forward as well, bumping Colly on the arm and shaking his head. 

 

“So what’s the plan then you dirty little worm?” Face asked the squirming man below him. “You want us to get killed? Captured? Or just fail in our mission objectives? You willing to let three good men die out here just to satisfy your childish need for revenge?” The blade of his knife pressed even harder into the flesh below until a thin line of red bloomed in the darkness and Harker started thrashing in earnest.

 

“What the fuck?!” he yelled, his voice rising in pitch as the panic set in. “Get him the hell off me before he kills me, you idiots!”

 

This time it was BA who spoke. “LT...” he murmured and Face moved like lightening, hauling Harker to his feet and throwing him at Sharkie who grabbed and held him securely without a pause for thought.

 

“I’ll ask you again,” Face’s voice was quiet in the now thick night – lethally quiet. “ _How_ did you find us?”

 

Harker looked relieved and a lot braver now that he was away from Face and his knife and didn’t even try to throw off Sharkie’s grip. “You think I trashed your camp?” he shook his head and spat out a bitter laugh. “Not everyone is as fucking crazy as you are, Peck! Why the hell would I do that? Why would I ruin all your provisions, your ammo, your communications if I was going to land myself on you? Why would I risk my own life along with the sorry bastards that got stuck with you in the first place?” he tried to take a step forward, but Sharkie held him back. “Why would I put myself in the position where I would have to follow _your_ orders if you don’t even have the water supplies to make sure your men will make it through the next day?” Colly frowned and glanced at Face as if seconding that precise question himself as a smug smile crept over Harker’s expression and the whole scene slid into silence.

 

For almost twenty seconds no one moved, no one spoke and the tension was ratcheted up just enough that every trace of smug drained out of Harker’s face, and then Face replied. “Who said we had no water?” he asked quietly.

 

Again the silence fell. Again the tension seemed to creep forward and envelope the entire group. Harker looked flustered, Colly’s frown was even deeper than before, BA was watching Harker almost as intently as Face was; only Sharkie’s expression was unreadable. But then, with some kind of super human effort, Harker managed to pull himself together once more and offer a smile to the men watching him. “I just presumed,” he said smoothly. “You said your camp had been sabotaged, if that was the case, then surely they would have ruined your water?” he shrugged. “Water is more precious than gold out here after all.”

 

Face held his eyes and the rest of the unit held their breath before their CO spoke again. “Sharkie, keep an eye on him,” he said turning back to the ruined kit on the ground. “Colly, take the perimeter. BA, see if you can get any life outta any of this crap,” he poked his toe at the pile of electronic parts gathered together on a camo sheet. “We don’t have time for this.”

 

Relieved that the confrontation seemed over with for now, everyone immediately moved to their jobs and Harker had a hard time keeping the smug smile from his face.

 

____________________________

 

The desert night was cold but ever brightening, promising to blend into another searing hot day once more. But the chill of the dark didn’t stop the raging thirst that was a constant reminder to both Face and BA that the last drink to pass their lips had been many hours ago. They walked in silence towards both the dawn and the town of _Badikh Jidar_ , their packs relatively empty apart from the water skins that they hoped to fill from one of the many stand pipes within the fortified walls.

 

Face knew that BA’s silence was as much to do with his dry mouth as it was to do with the fact that he didn’t think for one moment that this plan of Face’s, to wander back into the lion’s den they had only just escaped from a mere twenty four hours ago, was the right course of action, but Face didn’t care. He knew BA thought it wrong, and not just BA, Colly and Harker as well had been quite vociferous in their displeasure once he shared his plan with them, but in his heart and his head he was certain that this was the only viable way forward. They needed water and _Badikh Jidar_ was the only source of water for miles around so it was simple in his mind -  two of them needed to go in and fill up, and those two needed to be him and BA as they were the ones that knew the town best. He appreciated BA’s concerns that their faces were known, that they would be easily recognised, but he knew that Colly and Harker would attract attention as well, standing out as they would with their rare red hair within the town walls, and Sharkie couldn’t go, he was the only one of the three men in his team that Face trusted to keep an eye on Harker, the only one he knew was immune to the power of his lies and persuasion.

 

So it was him and BA, and in all honesty, he had no desire to go back in at all, but he knew it was the only way. Plus, if everything went as smoothly as he hoped it would, they would be in and out with enough water to sustain them for a few days before the sun had even reached an uncomfortably high altitude; he felt he was owed just that little bit of luck.

 

And then they would wait. Hannibal, as senior officer on the whole op had changed the plan somewhat once Face had contacted him to ask him for cover in removing BA and also to tell him about the human trading that was going on right in front of them. At that point the boss had decided that it made more sense to wait until their targets had been traded and were out of the city walls then the units could attack separately, one unit per mark, then slip back into the desert and make their way to the prearranged RV point. Face was relieved, it was a sound plan, and it had removed the necessity of making yet another strike at the auction, but then his relief had turned to trepidation once more when Hannibal had allocated his team the job of securing Markl; it wasn’t that he didn’t think he could do it, he’d just had enough of this damn op already and had been hoping for a quick and uneventful finish.

 

But at least he knew what was needed now, get the water, get back to the boys, keep watching the town and wait for Markl to be brought out, follow far enough into the desert so that reinforcements could not be called from _Badikh Jidar_ , snatch their mark and get the hell out of there. Simple. He was refusing to think of BA and Colly’s lack of faith in his plan, of all the kit, radios, GPS units, ammo, food, which was lost or stolen, of Harker and his suspicious appearance in the camp, his calculating eyes and his smug grin... No, all of those issues were pushed right to the back of his mind where he hoped they would stay.

 

The walk, however, was lengthy and in the silence that stretched as long as the early morning shadows, Face had a lot of time to think and before he knew it he was going back to the look on Harker’s face when he’d told him of his plan to go into to town and get some water.

 

“You have got to be kidding me!” had been his initial reaction, and Face had turned to him, managing to make out the incredulous sneer on his face in the light of the single torch they had.

 

“Problem?” he asked shortly, not really wanting to know the answer.

 

For a second, Harker was silent and for once Face felt that the shock he could see in that usually smug face was not an act. “Of course there’s a fucking problem!” came the snappy reply and then Face knew he was right, that Harker was genuinely ruffled here and was not just trying to make waves for the sheer hell of it. Face waited. “Are you desperate to get yourselves caught again?” he asked into the silence and still Face waited, content to let Harker talk himself into a corner where some truths may at last be revealed. “I mean, your last trips into town have hardly been successful now have they?”

 

“We got the intel, man,” BA muttered. “You gonna deny that?”

 

“No,” Harker admitted. “But you got your damn self caught and we all had to risk our necks to get you out!”

 

“We won’t get caught,” Face interjected smoothly, knowing that Harker didn’t really have any worries for their safety. “We’ll be in and out in an hour.”

 

“You won’t!” and there it was again, that almost panicked response. “It’ll all go to shit and you’ll get trapped in there and put us all at risk as well!”

 

Face cocked his head slightly, studying the man as well as he could in the darkness. “You’re not bothered about that,” he surmised quietly. “Hell, if I was captured I know you wouldn’t risk your pinkie to get me out again, it’d be the best day of your fucking miserable life, so come on Ged, what gives?”

 

“I told you!” Harker almost yelled back “And I’m not going over it all again! The plan is a pile of shit, this whole situation is a pile of shit!” he gestured around at the neat piles of ruined kit. “And _you_ , Peck, are the biggest shit of them all!”

 

Face kept his expression neutral, even when BA lunged forward, beaten only by Sharkie who grabbed Harker by the hair and yanked his head back. “You want me to kill him for you, boss?” he asked casually and Face guessed that he was the only one of the group who knew that Sharkie was joking.

 

“What gives, Ged?” he asked quietly. “You got something else you want to tell us?”

 

With a superhuman effort and a quick elbow to the ribs, Harker managed to throw Sharkie off him and stagger to his feet in the darkness. “You’re all fucking crazy,” he hissed as he took a step away from them. “And when we get back, I’m writing you all up! You got that?! Fucking crazy...” with another dark look he turned away into the desert and Sharkie, after a nod from Face followed him.

 

Face turned around to find BA watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face. “He’s lying,” he reported shortly, “and he’s up to something.” BA didn’t reply. “Be ready at 0500, Corporal,” Face added, holding back his sigh, “we’re going for a walk. Colly, take watch,” and then he retreated to the remains of his bedroll and an attempt at sleep.

 

And it was true, Face reflected as he and BA arrived in sight of the vast wooden gates just as they were opening for the day, Harker _was_ up to something, he could feel it in his very bones. The Captain’s words and his attempts to try and change the focus of their conversation had not made any difference to Face at all, in his opinion the man had trailed them to their camp and destroyed it, sabotaging their survival chances as well as the probability of fulfilling the mission brief, then, and possibly more worrying than that right now, he had a real issue with them going back into _Badikh Jidar_ today, and that was nothing to do with any false concern for their welfare. Face knew that there was something in the town that Harker didn’t want them to do, or to see, or to stop – and that nagged uneasily at the back of his mind even as it made him all the more determined to go in there and do, or see or stop whatever the hell it was that had Harker so wound up.

 

“Shit, man...” BA muttered under his breath pulling Face from his musing, and he looked up to feel his own gut contract sharply at the sight of the four heavily armed members of the Yemeni National Guard that were currently getting themselves into position in and around the guard house at the gates. They were lighting cigarettes, their weapons slung loosely over their backs, but Face was not fooled by any of that; he knew that they were highly trained, had hi-tech weapons that they knew exactly how to use and, more to the point, he knew that they _should not_ have been anywhere near _Badikh Jidar_ right now.

 

“Keep walking!” he hissed, feeling BA’s reluctance growing with every step, “If we stop now we’ll do nothing but draw attention to ourselves!”

 

“What are they doing here?” BA muttered back, trying to do exactly as Face had ordered even though he felt that the madness of this move was getting out of control. “You think they’re here ‘cause of us?”

 

Face didn’t respond as their feet resolutely ate up the last hundred metres to the gates, he was too busy trying to work out an answer. He doubted that that was the case, he knew the nearest National Guard outpost was a day’s travel away, and there was no way that they could have flown in without the chopper being seen or at the very least heard. “I doubt it,” he eventually replied as he felt BA’s questioning eyes still on him, and then all conversation ceased as they made their way up to the huge and imposing gates.

 

Fortunately for them, there had been a few traders already waiting for the gates to open and allow them into the town, and for a minute Face had hoped they would be able to walk straight in, hidden amongst the crowd, but no such luck. The first three or four men ambled in successfully, but then shouting from above startled them all into looking up and seeing the man, also in YNG uniform, leaning out of a window cut into the recess of the gate and gesturing angrily at the guards. Instantly they snapped alert, dropping their cigarettes and approaching the next trader in the line, barking questions at him.

 

Four men back, still outside the gateway, Face and BA paused, both ready to run or fight, but waiting for now, and praying that they wouldn’t need to; between the total lack of cover and the automatic weapons carried by the YNG, Face knew that their chances of walking away from a firefight were approaching zero. “Face?” BA breathed, and without looking, without moving his lips Face replied.

 

“Hold,” he whispered, trying to make out the conversation in front of him. “I think they’re just checking I.D.” They had I.D; Algerian passports with the correct visas stamped into them, at least Face hoped they were the right visas... With the tight timescale of the op, he had needed to entrust the document making to a contact of his, a man in Atlanta who he trusted and had used before without issue, but in general Face liked to do his own forging, he’d added the photographs to these, and a few final touches, but it wasn’t the same.

 

At last the first man was let through and the YNG turned their attention to the next in line. Face made his decision, to turn back now would probably mark them out as suspicious anyway, they had no other choice but to brazen it out, hope these guards hadn’t been around to witness the chaos in the market square yesterday and trust to Davey and his forged passports. He took a step forward, and hearing BA’s sigh in his ear, felt the big guy do the same.

 

Time seemed to crawl as they slowly shuffled forward into the shade of the huge archway. The sun was well clear of the mountains now and the temperature had been rising quickly. Face felt the sweat on his back sticking his t-shirt to his skin, but bizarrely his feet, chilled through the night, were still cold. It was with a sense of mounting trepidation, however, that he took that final step out of the reach of the sun and into the much cooler shade. It may have protected him from the blazing heat, but it also reminded him that he was stepping away from freedom, that he and BA were crawling right back into the belly of the beast; somehow even his raging thirst didn’t make that feel right.

 

Another trader was allowed in, then another, until they were talking to the man in front of them, a man, Face had just noticed, who was starting to look a little edgy, a little ill perhaps, rocking from one foot to the other, muttering under his breath and sweating hard, despite the relative cool of the archway. He softly nudged BA without making eye contact, and nodded his head towards the man in front of them just as he stepped up and the first guard spoke to him. Seeing the trader’s nervousness, Face felt his own start to build, and the sweat on his back ran cold. He let his hand creep under the folds of his robes to the butt of his side arm, instantly feeling better for its solid presence in his fingers, but left it where it was for now, watching the men in front of him and desperately trying to hear what they were saying.

 

Face was good at languages, he learned them without effort, a skill he had actually tried to play down throughout his school days as he much preferred the label of ‘rebel’ to ‘nerd’. But travelling as much as he did now it was a genuine asset and he leaned forward a little, only managing to pick up a few words here and there due to the speed the men were conversing and the general hubbub going on around them. The word ‘passport’ was mentioned a few times, as was ‘identification’. Face was sure he’d heard the trader telling the guards he’d been robbed on a train, but he couldn’t be sure, the man was, however, looking edgier with every minute, the sweat now standing out in beads on his upper lip.

 

Then, without a hint of warning, he suddenly sprang forward, struck the first guard squarely across the face with his fist shoving him back into his colleague and was off, making a break for the busy square beyond and the protection that chaos offered even as all four guards drew their guns and took off after him, firing a few shots that caused panic in people and livestock alike. Face and BA did not have to wait for a second invitation, even as the assembled mass of people waiting behind them all surged forward, they dropped their heads and walked in, quickly turning left when the guards had gone right and merging effortlessly in with the crowds.

 

__________________________

 

It didn’t take them the hour that Face had hoped it would, it was nearer two by the time they had filled all the water skins and were ready to head out of the town. The delay had come from constantly having to scout around the YNG patrols who seemed to be everywhere that he and BA wanted to be. They also had to move from standpipe to stand pipe, not wanting to appear suspicious by the two of them filling so many water containers up in one place. But eventually, with their packs digging hard into their shoulders from the weight of the water, they started their cautious way back towards the gate.

 

“I hope them guards aint checking people on the way out...” BA murmured in Face’s ear as they navigated a busy alleyway. “Don’t fancy going through that again.”

 

“No,” Face admitted, but then stopped and stepped closer to the wall as yet another company of YNG came up the alley towards them. He was still curious and more than a bit anxious as to why the Guard would be in _Badikh Jidar_ like this, in such numbers as well. He didn’t think it was to do with them and the attacks on the human market, but he couldn’t be sure, and by the glances the locals were giving the soldiers as they marched past, Face knew that they were just as wary and confused as he was. As they passed by he came to a snap decision and pushed off from the wall, beckoning for BA to follow him. 

 

“What now?” BA hissed falling into step at his side. “Where we goin’, man? The gate’s that way!”

 

“I know,” Face replied, his voice low and focussed. “But what are they doing here, BA? Why are the National Guard in a place like this? Right in the asshole of nowhere?”

 

BA shook his head, “I dunno,” he admitted, “But it aint nothing to do with us! Let’s get the hell outta here while we still can!”

 

He received no reply from Face who was busy watching from afar as the troop of soldiers navigated their way through a packed square. “It’s got to be something to do with Markl,” he eventually breathed into BA’s expectant silence. “It would take them days to get here from the nearest base... they must know who he is.”

 

This time BA frowned as they started trailing the guards once more. “Makes no sense,” he muttered. “They was willing to let the guy be _sold_ out here. You think they’d do that if they knew who they had?”

 

“Were they?” Face countered. “I know he was in the stockade, but I never saw him in those cages at the auction – did you?” BA thought about that for a moment, and his deepened frown was answer enough for Face. “Look, BA,” turning from watching the guard as they checked random IDs in the street, Face focussed his intense blue eyes right onto his Corporal’s brown ones. “I think they’re here for Markl, I think they’re going to try and sneak him out of town,” BA held his stare. “We need to check it out, see what’s going on. Stop them,” he paused and BA could see him making a decision. “I could order you to do this with me, as your CO here, you know I could...” Face didn’t miss the way that BA bristled at his words. “But to be honest, BA, I’m not going to, I’d rather do this alone than have you trailing around after me questioning my every move, glaring at the back of my head.” He turned back to the square. “Take the water back to the camp and tell them the change of plan. I’ll handle this,” and then he was off again, quickly but unobtrusively following the Guard as they headed back into the labyrinthine streets and leaving a stunned BA in his wake.

 

For ten minutes more he stalked them through the busy alleys and tunnels, before finally flattening himself to the dirty wall of a cafe as the soldiers stopped and ducked into a small side entrance of what appeared to be a large garage or barn. He frowned at the lack of windows and set off again, tracking cautiously around the outside of the walls, looking for a way in or at least a way to _see_ in. Nothing leapt out to him, nothing but the roof which was way out of reach, literally, of everything apart the wall of a next door yard, but standing at least nine feet tall and as smooth as a baby’s rump, that was going to be tough to climb as well. He was standing looking upwards, considering his options when a sound behind him had him spinning, sidearm already in his hand and pinning the man who’d been approaching him from behind up against the wall of the garage, a tense forearm across his neck, a gun barrel at his temple.

 

For a count of three the two men stared at each other in silence before the intruder managed to force a few words past the pressure of Face’s arm. “You wanna boost up?” he croaked and Face couldn’t help but laugh at that, straightening up and stowing his weapon back into his robes.

 

“Fuck, BA! You trying to get yourself killed?”

 

“Nah, man,” BA answered roughly, rubbing at his neck, “Just couldn’t let you go tearing off like that without any backup though, could I? Boss woulda fried my balls if I did.”

 

Face just grunted at that and turned to face the wall, lifting one foot and waiting for the offered boost but it never came, instead there was a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to turn until he was looking straight into BA’s sombre face. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed. “And I’m not your enemy here, Face, I swear I’m not. You and me,” he gestured clumsily between them, “we’re team mates, brothers, and I know it’s time I started acting like it.”   

 

For a second it looked as if Face was going to brush his apology off, turn back to the wall and act like the Corporal had never spoken, but then he sighed and forced out a flat smile at the man staring at him. “Thanks, BA,” he replied quietly. “But it’s not just you, I know I can be a little hard to be around sometimes, I don’t mean to push your buttons.”

 

BA laughed at that and pushed Face away, back to the wall, slapping at his leg to get it lifted. “Yes you do,” he muttered as he grabbed Face’s dusty boot in his laced fingers. “You’re a damn expert in it, now shut up and let’s see what’s in this baby.”

 

Laughing again, Face pushed up with his thigh as BA heaved at his foot and the top of the wall came instantly into reach. Within a few scrambled seconds he was perched on top, leaning down to haul BA up after him and then they were both laid flat on the hot terracotta tiles of the roof, working out their next move. “There,” BA said, breathing heavily from the scramble up. “Is that a sky light?” Face nodded and they cautiously crept over the loose and cracked tiles, knowing that, as long as they were on their feet, they would be visible to all in the streets below.

 

When they arrived, they both dropped into place, one on either side of the dusty glass insert and slowly edged forward, waiting a moment to let their eyes adjust to the darkness within.

 

“ _Jesus..._ ” Face breathed as he finally saw what was stored below them and across from him he felt BA take a sharp breath in.

 

Silence fell again as they stared and tried to process what their eyes were telling them was there before BA finally spoke. “What the fuck are they going to do with that?” he breathed. “What’s it even doing here?”

 

Face stared in silence, allowing the theory in his head to grow and solidify before he shared it with BA and while he waited he watched as the soldiers below him finished unrolling the tarp off the immaculate Apache Longbow attack helicopter currently sitting right below them. The cockpit canopy was wide open, and like so many ants, there were men all over the machine, wiping over the plexi-glass, checking fuel lines, inspecting dials and read-outs, rotors and wheels, and it all became so, so clear to them both. “They’re gonna fly Markl out...” BA whispered, his eyes on the two-seater cockpit and Face nodded, the inevitability of that sentence as harsh as the still climbing sun.

 

The two men rolled away from the window and Face crept around to hunker down at BA’s side. “We can’t let that happen,” he said darkly, his eyes holding BA’s. “Markl gets in that heli and we’ll never see him again. Agreed?”

 

BA nodded. “You got a plan?” he asked quietly and felt that familiar fatalistic calm spread through him at Face’s terse nod.

 

“I’ll cause a distraction out front,” he whispered quickly, “the guards’ll come out, you go in. Take out any engineers in there and disable that ‘copter. You think you can do that?”

 

Thinking for a minute, BA frowned. Helicopters and planes were not his favourite of mechanical beasts, even less so since that god-awful day in Mexico, but his Momma always said that there wasn’t a machine on God’s earth that her Scooter couldn’t fix, and so inversely he should be able to _unfix_ anything as well. He nodded, “I got it, LT.”

 

Face held his gaze a second longer, the reached out and they bumped fists, “Okay then,” he said already making his way to the edge of the roof, “Let’s do this!”

 

______________________________

 

Not five minutes later BA was crouching in the shadows next to the little person-sized door on the side of what he now realised was a hanger, berating himself for not realising it sooner. The doors were huge, far bigger than they needed to be if this was a storage facility for jeeps, or even lorries. They were also much newer than the rest of the building, obviously only added in the last year or so, another dead giveaway. Add to that the fact that the doors opened up onto a square, full of people and livestock at the minute, but definitely large enough for an Apache to taxi on out and get airborne, and BA was kicking himself at the obviousness of it all.

 

Not for the first time since he started this crazy mission, he wished that Murdock was here as well, the guy might be slightly crazy, but at least he understood the workings of a heli' and BA knew damn well that he would be able to instruct him on how to make that baby unflightworthy in less than a minute. As it was, BA realised that he had been less than straight with Face over his part in the plan; the LT had asked him if he could disable the chopper and BA had told him he could, and, well, that _was_ still the truth, BA _could_ do that, he knew he could. Only problem was, he hadn’t quite figured out _how_ yet, and only hoped he would do that pretty darn quickly once Face’s diversion started. And that was another thing – when BA had asked Face what the diversion was going to be, Face had just smiled at him, that flat smile that BA didn’t trust and told him he’d know; not a very reassuring answer on which to rely upon...

 

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by shouting in the square around the corner, lots of shouting, and screaming, and was that laughter and _whooping_ as well? He frowned as people started running down the alleyway next to him but _towards_ the square, not away from it, their faces alight with excitement and determination, not the fear that BA had expected. The furore grew, with more and more people thundering into the square, the noise level rising higher and higher, and then, just as Face had predicted it would, the door of the hanger right next to him burst open and six, seven, eight, armed guards pelted out into the sunshine, making for the chaos around the corner. BA was ready to move, and before the door had even swung closed in their wake, he had silently risen from his hiding place and stealthily crept into the hanger.

 

There were only two people left inside, both wearing overalls and both standing on their tiptoes trying to see out into the square through a gap between the huge wooden doors. It was no effort at all for BA to creep up on them and quickly put them out of action with a well-timed chop to the back of each neck. He was relieved it had been that easy, they were civilians he was guessing from their clothing and the way they had been left inside, and there was no way he wanted to start off his day with civilian blood on his hands.

 

Within seconds he was inside the cockpit of the Apache, staring at all the screens and buttons and levers and switches and trying to force down the fear he could feel already bubbling up inside him. “Calm down,” he muttered to himself as he quickly tried to identify the job of the controls surrounding him. “You aint gonna fly in this baby, you gonna make her so she _can’t_ fly, right?” His pep talk to self helped a little, but his heart still felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest.

 

It took him all of two minutes to decide that there was nothing in the cockpit that was going to help him in his mission, so he climbed back out, feeling much better now his feet were on terra firma once more, and made his way to the side of the chopper, crawling underneath, looking for the fuel line into the engine. It was harder than he had anticipated to find, but eventually it was there and he bit back a grim smile as he pulled his knife free of his robes and pressed it against the piping, deciding where he could cut without getting covered in aviation fuel. He finally located his spot and pressed the knife into place, stiffening as the almost deafening sound of automatic gunfire erupted in the square outside. BA stilled, his heart beating hard again as he heard the answering call of Face’s M9.

 

The LT was outnumbered out there, that much was blatantly clear, and it seemed that the opposition were packing weapons with a hell of a lot more punch than Face’s solitary side arm. There was no decision to be made in BA’s mind, leaving the fuel line intact for now, he squirmed out from under the Apache and made for the double doors, tugging his own handgun out as he ran.

 

He never made it that far though, before he’d even cleared the nose of the aircraft the doors burst inwards and Face came barrelling in, appropriated Kalashnikov barking at his side covering his retreat, and one stunned and staggering Dr. Christian Markl being dragged along in his iron like grip.

 

“Change of plan!” Face yelled as BA lifted his side arm and started taking shots at the guards still out in the square. “Get in the heli, BA! We’re leaving now!”

 

BA frowned but started backing towards the cockpit even as he heard Face and Markl climbing inside. He wasn’t that keen on getting aboard himself, but people were shooting at him and he’d take his odds in a chopper any day against that, at least Markl must know what he was doing, must be confident he could fly the Apache, he conceded as he backed towards the still open cockpit, firing shot after shot as he retreated; he knew that Face most certainly _did not_ know what he was doing in the cockpit of any flying machine, so it was obviously Markl that was gonna get them out of here.

 

That thought was so strong, so already set in his head, that he was most surprised to see it was _Face_ frantically strapping himself into the pilot’s seat of the Apache, and Markl, looking so terrified that he might even just pass out, cowering in the gunner’s seat in front of him. “What the fuck you doing, man?” he yelled, pausing on the cusp of the cockpit.

 

“Get in!” Face yelled back, eyes darting frantically over the controls as he stabbed buttons and flicked switches.

 

“Get in?!!” BA had never heard anything quite so ludicrous in his life, “You don’t know how to fly this thing Faceman! You gonna kill us all!”

 

“And they’re not?” Face shot back, quick as a whip and BA glanced up as a whole fresh contingent of YNG arrived at speed in the square ahead.

 

“Oh, I’ma crazier than that crazy fool to be doing this...” BA muttered drawing a terrified whimper from Markl even as he hauled himself in and sat down roughly on top of the huddled scientist. He reached over and slammed the canopy shut tight above him, feeling just a shade safer at the knowledge there was now a layer of bulletproof glass between him and all the guns pointed their way, but then, rotors spinning madly, the Apache started moving.

 

“Face!” he yelled again, scrabbling for something to hold onto as they started edging slowly out into the sunshine, but Face was just staring ahead in grim determination.

 

“I got this, big guy,” he muttered, “I got this. Get on those guns.”

 

Now, _shooting_ , BA could do and it also helped take his mind off the terror that Face was going to try and fly them out of here in a notoriously difficult flying machine backed by absolutely no training or experience. He took aim, firmly pressed down on the little red button and the Apache’s guns spoke with a deafening roar sending every single member of the YNG diving for cover. Face’s whoop of joy made Markl cringe where he had slipped onto the floor under BA’s legs and even BA found a smile trying to edge onto his lips as they crept out into the open.

 

The downdraft from the Apache was incredible, blowing soldiers, civilians, market stalls, water barrels, and quite surprisingly, large amounts of money, all around the square and then totally out of sight. “Where’d all that money come from?” BA yelled over the noise of the rotors as they edged forward and he suddenly realised what Face’s diversion had been.

 

“It was what I had left!” Face shouted back, his brow furrowed as he slowly edged one of the joysticks forward.

 

“Had left?” BA repeated, eyes constantly on the lookout for attack, finger on the button of the chain gun.

 

“From buying you!” came the reply and BA shot back a dirty look at the laugh from Face.

 

All joviality soon disappeared, however as Face brought the Apache to a stuttering halt, the fact that they had run out of space to taxi any further bringing a rather abrupt end to their escape plan. “Jesus, fuck...” Face muttered, squirming around and around in his seat, looking for a possible way out, but none of the alleys or roadways leading off from the square was anywhere near wide enough for the rotors of their escape vehicle.

 

Sensing movement to their left, BA spun in his seat and also swore as he found himself looking at a group of five or six YNG currently struggling against the powerful downdraft as they laboured to set up their RPG. “Face...” he muttered nervously, his eyes fixed on the shell currently being fed into the barrel of the rocket launcher.

 

“Not now buddy,” Face replied, his eyes dark and focussed as he looked around him still.

 

“Face!” BA repeated, his eyes widening as the RPG took shape in front of him.

 

“Busy!” Face yelled back.

 

“They got a rocket launcher here, man!” BA shouted again, mentally trying to calculate how long it would take them to get it up and running.

 

Face, meanwhile, didn’t throw him a glance. “Then shoot them!” he yelled and BA, muttering under his breath, turned the chain gun onto the huddle of soldiers, narrowing his eyes as he fired, scattering them left and right across the dusty ground, the RPG collapsing on top of a motionless body. “You got them?” Face shouted at BA, his fingers skimming the instrument panel in front of him.

 

“I got them,” BA confirmed, sitting up straighter in his seat, his feet now resting on the still form of Christian Markl beneath him and he wonder if the scientist had actually passed out on them. There was a commotion in the side street yet again as yet another raft of YNG burst into view, scrabbling around their fallen comrades to try and rescue the disassembled pieces of the RPG.  “If you were thinking of flying us outta here, Faceman, now might be a good time to do it!”

 

In the seat behind him, Face was silent, but BA could hear his breathing, heavy and undeniably stressed as he wrestled with the bank of controls and BA started praying. “Face...” he muttered watching as yet more soldiers appeared around them, pointing weapons their way and peppering the armoured body of the Apache with their rounds. Instantly BA was on them, swivelling the barrel of the chain gun as he sprayed the square with red-hot bullets, watching with grim satisfaction as the YNG dived for whatever cover they could find. “Face!” he tried again, his mental clock ticking down to the point where their luck was bound to run out.

 

“Okay! Okay!” Face yelled back, “Give me a second here, BA! There’s too many fucking buttons!” BA groaned and shook his head, swearing that, if he survived Face’s maiden flight with all his limbs intact, he’d never again complain about Murdock again. “Okay,” Face repeated, calmer now, “I got this, I’ve found the Hellfires.” BA looked up, wondering what on earth Face was planning to do with an air to surface missile while they were still securely grounded. “Okay, suckers!” Face muttered, “Let’s see what you make of _this_ then!”

 

BA could almost imagine Face’s smug smile as he heard his finger stab out at a button, but to the big man’s horror, there was a metallic ‘ _clunk’_ to his right, and as he looked up, one of the hundred pound missiles currently loaded onto the Apache’s stub wings clicked out of its bracket and fell harmlessly to the ground with an impotent, _’thud’_. “Oh, fuck...” Face muttered and BA just pressed the trigger for the chain gun once more, feeling better simply by hearing the heavy pounding of its report.

 

“Face!” he muttered again, wishing more than anything that they’d taken their chances on foot. “Missiles aint no good, man! Find the rockets!”

 

“Alright! Alright!” Face retorted hotly, “I’m doing my best!” There was more swearing and shuffling behind BA followed by a yelp of success and another loud finger stab. This time, the occupants of the cockpit were almost deafened by the simultaneous explosions from either side and BA stared, wide eyed as two Hydra rockets launched in a burst of fire, streaking across the square and burying themselves in the wall at the far side with another ear-splitting explosion. Above the ringing in his ears, BA could hear Face yelling and whooping behind him, “Alpha! Mike! Foxtrot! Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!” as the whole wall collapsed showing nothing but empty desert on the other side of the swirling dust and debris.

 

BA’s face split into a wide grin and he couldn’t help joining in with the raucous celebration himself, so relieved to have a way out at last before one of the YNG’s rounds found a way through the bulletproof glass of the Apache’s canopy. “Yo, Face!” he shouted, “You the man!”

 

This time, Face just grinned, too busy concentrating on taxiing the Apache out through the rubble-strewn gap to offer more of a celebration. “Cover our tail, big guy,” he shouted back as the helicopter lurched and pitched through the smoking hole and out into the sandy freedom beyond and BA instantly complied, emptying round after round from the chain gun until _Badikh Jidar_ was barely a blot on the landscape and all pursuing jeeps had been left far behind with their engines full of bullets.

 

___________________________

 

As the Apache’s rockets blew a huge hole in the ancient walls of Badikh Jidar, Hannibal and the remains of his team flung themselves full length in the sand, weapons instantly at the ready, eyes darting around for the source of the explosion. “What the...” Hannibal breathed from his vantage point high above the town, watching as the helicopter taxied awkwardly over the debris from the wall and out into the desert quickly leaving _Badikh Jidar_ and Hannibal, far behind it.

 

“Off road taxi-ing!” Murdock sniggered from his side, “I like it!”

 

Hannibal didn’t respond, he was far too busy trying to piece together what was going on to involve himself in Murdock’s banter, but not so Carlton. “Is that even _possible_ , sir?” he asked quietly, his eyes on the Apache as it continued to lurch across the sand spraying bullets at the pursuing jeeps.

 

“Well, now that depends...” the pilot answered cryptically before lapsing back into silence once more.

 

“Depends?” Carlton had soon become bored waiting for Murdock to continue.   

 

Murdock was now trailing the progress of the grounded chopper through his binoculars. “Hmm-mmm,” he agreed. “Depends on how seriously the pilot takes the instruction manual, and that pilot,” he turned to Hannibal at this point, “has obviously never even _seen_ the instruction manual.”

 

Hannibal nodded, Murdock’s words confirming his own thoughts. “One of our boys,” he mused aloud, all he needed to know now was exactly who and more importantly, _why_.

 

“Colonel Smith, sir...” Carlton’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Look, seven o’clock...”

 

Twisting around on their bellies, Hannibal and Murdock looked behind them at the three figures in unmistakable desert camo fatigues making their way up the dune towards their current position. “Harker,” Hannibal muttered to himself taking one last glance at the fleeing chopper. “I wondered when he’d crawl back.”

 

“And Sharkie and Collingwood,” Murdock added, the tension in his voice impossible to miss. “So where are BA and Face?”

 

Hannibal’s frown deepened, even as Murdock's flicked back to the chopper. “Carlton, keep your eyes on that Apache and holler if anything happens, Murdock, with me,” and with that they skidded down the sand on their butts, rising to a jog once they were away from the lip of the dune.

 

“Captain,” Hannibal greeted Harker in clipped tones. “Where the fuck have you been?”

 

He didn’t answer, eyes instead flicking to the water canteen on Hannibal’s pack, his dry lips unable to form the words he needed. The need in his expression was crystal clear, however and both Hannibal and Murdock moved at once, handing their canteens over to Harker and Colly, Murdock unstrapping his pack to get at the reservoir inside, passing it to Sharkie as soon as he did. For a few minutes there was silence as the three men took the edge off their dehydration, but then Harker, predictably, was the first to speak. “I was separated, sir, in the operation to remove Corporal Baracus from _Badikh Jidar_. Managed to stumble across Beta unit and what was left of their camp.”

 

“What was left?” Hannibal barked, the suspicion caused by Harker’s surprisingly respectful tone evident in every line of his face.

 

“Yes, sir,” Colly took over as Harker tipped the water canteen to his cracked lips once more. “Our camp was sabotaged, all our kit was ruined, water supplies drained. Captain Harker found us just after we got back with BA.”

 

For a second, Hannibal’s eyes flicked to Sharkie’s ironic ‘humph’ but quickly zeroed back to Harker. “Why didn’t you call in?”

 

Harker shrugged. “Lost my pack, and Beta’s equipment was totalled.”

 

Something didn’t sit quite right with that for Hannibal, but he had other, more pressing issues to consider than pursue it at that very moment. “Where’s Face and BA?” he asked instead.

 

The question had been directed at Colly, but it was Harker who answered. “I need to talk to you in private about that, sir...” he said quietly.

 

Instantly Murdock stiffened and Hannibal felt the sick swoop of dread in his gut but it was Sharkie who broke the ominous silence. “Like fuck you do, Harker,” he growled. “Say what you need to here in front of me and Colly so we know you’re not talking bullshit.”

 

There was a tense silence; Harker bristled and Colly looked around uncomfortably but Hannibal only nodded. “Say it here,” he instructed quietly.

 

For a second it looked like Harker was up for a fight, but he must have seen the shards of flint in Hannibal’s eyes as he just shrugged instead and started up his story. “We were separated in _Badikh Jidar_ because I saw the Apache and the YNG and guessed that they were going to fly Markl out.”

 

Both Colly and Sharkie look up in surprise at that statement and Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think that that was worth mentioning to your CO then, Harker?” he asked quietly.   

 

Harker shook his head, “I couldn’t could I?” he answered, “I had no way of contacting you.”

 

“I meant Lieutenant Peck,” Hannibal growled and Harker flushed.

 

“I did tell him,” Harker replied, his earnest eyes on Hannibal, “And then I wished I hadn’t.”

 

“Whoa!” Sharkie interrupted stepping forward a little. “You never said nothing to the LT about the mark getting shipped out! Face didn’t know that!” he looked at Colly for backup but Colly remain silent, his brow creased as he studied Harker.

 

“It was confidential, Sergeant,” Harker ground out, flashing a furious look at Sharkie before turning back to Hannibal. “I told Peck,” he repeated, “and he instantly came up with some ill advised plan to go into the town and pull him out. I reminded him of your orders, but he seemed intent on ignoring them, I wasn’t sure why at the time...”

 

“Bull. Shit,” Sharkie growled. “Face went into _Badikh Jidar_ for water, that’s all. It weren’t nothing to do with the op.”

 

Hannibal ignored him. “And now you are?” he asked quietly.

 

Harker licked his lips and shot an uneasy glance at Sharkie. “You sure you don’t want to do this in private?” he asked Hannibal who simply nodded.

 

“I’m sure. Now, spill.”

 

Tension settled over the little group once more as Harker drew himself up a little straighter where he stood. “I believe that Peck went into _Badikh Jidar_ with the express intention of removing Markl from the town before he could be extracted and moved to safety by another team.”

 

Sharkie’s response was instantaneous. “You sneaky little shit!” he spat, “No wonder you didn’t want me and Colly here to hear this!” he turned his furious dark eyes onto Hannibal. “Don’t listen to any of this, boss!” he protested, “It’s all a pack of lies!”

 

“You’re sure of that?” Harker instantly parried. “You know everything I said to Peck? You heard every conversation I had with him?”

 

Sharkie’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he hissed lethally, turning to Hannibal again. “I watched this little prick like a snake, boss,” he reported firmly. “He was never alone with the LT once, not once.”

 

Hannibal nodded and Harker swore under his breath. “Oh, of course you would believe him wouldn’t you, _Colonel_? Everyone knows that Peck is your favourite little pet, that he’s untouchable, under your protection at all times, of course you’d never believe he would turn traitor like this!”

 

“Turn traitor?” this was Colly now, “What the fuck you on about, Ged?”

 

“Don’t you idiots see?” Harker hissed, as Carlton started making his way down the dune towards them. “Peck went into town to pull Markl out before anyone else could get to him. He’s obviously cut some kind of deal with the Yemeni’s; he’ll keep Markl safe from us in return for some kind of payback from them!”

 

Sharkie and Murdock both swore vehemently at that assertion from the Captain as Hannibal’s face darkened in obvious anger but before anyone else could speak, Carlton was at their side’s saluting smartly at the Colonel. “Permission to speak, sir!” he blurted into the melee.

 

Hannibal rubbed at his forehead, “Granted,” he muttered in reply.

 

“The Apache has cleared the horizon,” the sergeant reported smartly. “All pursuing vehicles have been destroyed and it still isn’t clear who the occupants of it were, or even how many there were.”

 

Harker turned to the young sergeant. “Did the heli make any attempt to get to the last known position of any of the other US teams?” he asked. “Alpha and Gamma teams were both stationed on that side of the town after all.”

 

“No,” Carlton replied, his eyes flicking anxiously to Hannibal, “it didn’t.”

 

Sharkie folded his arms at Harker’s smug smile, while Murdock shook his head and Colly frowned.

 

“ _If_ it is Face and Markl in that Apache,” Hannibal said steadily, “then the Lieutenant will have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he has left the area without seeking backup from another team,” now it was Harker’s turn to frown. “For your own sake,” Hannibal continued, “I think it best if you kept your thoughts on the matter to yourself right now.” He turned to Murdock. “Captain, get on the radio and pull Alpha and Gamma units out. Get them over here asap, from now on we work as one unit under my control, I need to find Face and BA, find Markl and those agents and get the hell out of here before this SNAFU gets any bigger,” and with that he moved away, taking out his binoculars and striding back up the dune leaving a smug looking Harker finishing off his water and ignoring Sharkie’s glare.

 

________________________   

 

BA made sure that Markl was as happy as he could be, sitting in the shade of the Apache, canteen of water and glucose bar grasped in his slightly shaking hands, and then went to join Face who was crouched over a map with a compass and an almighty scowl on his face.

 

“Alright?” BA greeted him, pushing another glucose bar his way but Face didn’t answer. BA sighed and bit the bullet, asking the exact question that he knew Face would not want to answer. “You sure we doing the right thing here, LT?” his voice was quiet, trying not to damage this new truce that he and Face had developed. “I mean, you don’t think we should go back and find the boss?”

 

For a few tense moments Face didn’t respond but BA could see that he’d heard, could see that he was deciding how to respond, or what exactly to say or even the best way to bite BA’s head off, as his fingers had stopped ghosting over the terrain on the map below and his eyes had stopped flicking to the compass laid on his grubby palm. Eventually he turned and BA could see that he had that flat look on his face, the one he used when he didn’t want anyone to know how he was really feeling.

 

“No,” he said firmly, “I don’t.”

 

Again BA sighed and dropped down until he was parked on his butt in the sand and the grit. “You really think Harker was in on this?” he asked, keeping his voice down so that they could keep Markl happily oblivious.

 

“He must have been,” Face responded, his own voice quiet and controlled and BA could tell there was a lot of effort going on to keep it that way. “He didn’t want us going into town did he? He was hiding something, and that something was obviously Markl.”

 

BA shook his head. “But why?” he asked. “Why would he do that? Risk blowing the whole mission just to make us look like damn fools?”

 

Face looked back at his map. “Something, or some _one_ must have made it worth his while.”

 

Silence fell over them and BA looked at the back of Face’s bent head. “You think that?” he whispered in shock, “You think Harker took a bung to let Markl slip away?”

 

Face seemed to sag at his words and dropped onto his own butt, leaving the map and the compass in the dirt and ripping open his snack bar. “Oh, fuck it, BA...” he said, sounding exhausted and worn down, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think anymore, I just know that he’s lied to us the whole time. He knew Markl was there, probably knew about the chopper too but didn’t tell us. We can’t trust him, Big Guy.”

 

Thrilled beyond words that they were managing to have this conversation without either of them blowing up, BA pushed on. “I agree,” he said quietly. “But we _can_ trust Hannibal, so what we doing out here?”

 

Looking up as he shoved the wrapper from his bar into his pocket, Face shook his head and swallowed before meeting BA’s eyes once more. “Yes, we can trust the boss, and Murdock, but who the hell else, BA?” they looked at each other. “Who else would you bet your life on? Just say that Harker _has_ taken a bung here, who else has he got on his side? He’ll want Markl back if that’s the case, so he’ll have to come after us, him and anyone else he’s managed to warp. You really want to take all that trouble back to the boss and Murdock? Drop them in the same shit as us when they’ll be no wiser over who to trust and who not to?” BA’s eyes were now as bleak as his own. “We can’t do that,” Face finished up. “We just can’t. We need to handle this ourselves.”

 

BA let him finish and pick up his water bottle as he mulled the words around in his head. “What we gonna do then?” he asked eventually. “We got no ammo, no transport,” he glanced at the Apache, buried nose deep in the sand bank that Face had hit during the latest dust storm. “Hardly any food, the water won’t last long...”

 

Face turned and tapped the map in front of him again. “We’re only a hundred miles out of Saudi...” he said quietly and BA exhaled loudly.

 

“Hundred miles?” he shook his head, “Shit man, that’s gonna take weeks on foot!”

 

Instantly Face’s blue eyes were upon him again. “Hundred miles? Come on BA, we can do that in a few days, we can cover twenty five in a day if we run-”

 

But BA was already shaking his head, “Over those suckas?” he asked, pointing at the mountains rising up behind them, “And dragging him with us?”

 

Face glanced at where Markl was curled up in the shade and seemed to deflate right in front of BA’s eyes. “I can’t think of another way out,” he admitted quietly. “Oman is even further away and _Badikh Jidar_ is the closest town by miles... I just...” he shook his head and stared down at the map.

 

BA watched him for a few minutes as the dust swirled around them in little eddies before making his decision. “Hey,” he said firmly, clapping Face on the shoulder. “It’s a good move, you’re right, the only one we got, so c’mon man, let’s see what we can get outta this bird and then we’ll break the news to the Professor over there that he’s walking home.” BA rose fluidly to his feet and back to the Apache while Face took just another minute to stare at the map and pull himself together before he slowly rose and followed him.

 

_________________________________

 

Hannibal waited in the afternoon shadows of the great wall, heart thudding slowly and solidly in anticipation of the move they were about to make. He felt slightly bad about what he had planned but it was essential. It seemed that Face, and he now had to accept it _was_ his Lieutenant and Corporal that had taken Markl across the desert in the Apache that morning, had managed to destroy just about every desert-ready vehicle in his escape, leaving the pursuing YNG soldiers to depart, less than an hour ago, on horseback. Hannibal was a great believer in ‘when in Rome’ and so decided that they would cut short their own search for transport and instead take their chances with horses themselves. Murdock’s face had lit up like Times Square at the news, but Carlton had looked less than enthused.

 

Watching him now as he crouched next to Hannibal, his eyes steady on the gates, there was still evidence of that nervousness in his eyes. “Sir, I’ve never ridden a horse before...” he’d admitted quietly as they moved into position earlier on but Hannibal hadn’t even had the chance to answer him before Murdock had leapt forward, slinging an over-familiar arm around his tense shoulders and promising that he would choose him a ‘real good pony, one that likes singing and everything.’ Carlton had looked even more appalled at that, but Hannibal had been unable to keep the smile off his own face. He wondered though, if he should have sent the boy with the other half of the unit, the ones who were staying in _Badikh Jidar_ to track down and extract the CIA operatives... but then he thought of Harker and knew that the further he could keep him and his lies away from impressionable youngsters like Carlton, the better.

 

He remembered watching what was left of the four teams assembling after his call earlier in the day, Harker had been lurking slightly off to one side and Hannibal had observed him drifting from team to team as each one reported in five miles out of _Badikh Jidar_. He knew that the Captain was probably filling their heads with poisonous rubbish about Face, and began to wish he’d sent him off on some errand or other, keep him out of the way. But then, he’d reasoned, there would have been no guarantee that he would ever have come back – not that that was necessarily a bad thing...

 

He’d had no doubts about leaving Harker behind, however, as they prepared to trail Face across the desert, he knew that the faster the Captain was off this mission the better, so he’d left him under the control of Major Steiner and hoped that the man could minimise the damage that Harker could bring with his poisonous tongue. He’d also left Sharkie behind, much to the man’s annoyance, but Hannibal had taken him quietly to one side and explained that he needed someone near Harker that he knew he could trust, someone who knew Face and knew what Harker was about. That had settled Sharkie to an extent and his eyes had taken on that dark gleam that Hannibal recognised from earlier days, the gleam that meant that someone was in trouble. Hannibal had smiled grimly, Harker better watch his step.

 

Hooves on the hard packed ground soon brought his attention back to the present, however, and he tensed, seeing the group of men around him do the same as a small band of horse backed travellers rounded the corner of the walls and blindly approached Hannibal’s position. In a landscape full of flat, dry nothingness, Hannibal had been forced to position the ambush in the one place that provided even a modicum of cover. He wasn’t happy with that, knew that anyone who was at all familiar with these parts would be wary of the old broken down truck crumbling away as it was slowly buried by the shifting sands, but fortunately, these travellers were either too blasé to let that fact worry them or were completely oblivious to the danger – Hannibal hoped it was the second.

 

On his signal, the band of men under his command moved as one, and within thirty seconds without a single shot being fired, the travellers were gathered together, in front of Jonno’s unwavering firearm, their eyes wide and shocked as Murdock went through the saddle bags of the horses, taking out what they didn’t need and replacing it with what they did and Carlton and Corporal Sanderson approached them with focussed expressions and lengths of paracord.

 

“Sorry about this,” Hannibal told the man who had been leading the group out of the town. “We just need to borrow your horses, we’ll try and get them back to you.” He looked up as Sandy and Sergeant Brown, ‘Tubbs’ to everyone due to his always emaciated appearance, led the first of the now bound captives into the back of the lorry. “You’ll be found at first light by the patrols, you’ll be safe until then.” The man just stared and Hannibal wasn’t sure if he didn’t understand English or if he was just too shaken to reply. With a nod to Carlton who approached to bind this last captive, Hannibal turned to Murdock and the reins he was holding out.

 

“This one is Thunder Hooves,” the Captain informed him as Hannibal patted the thick, corded neck of the powerful looking horse. “He’s the boss horse, so I thought he’d be best off with you.”

 

Hannibal nodded and had been about to ask how Murdock had got the names of the animals off their owners so fast when he noticed the bright eyed grin on the other’s face.

 

“I see,” he said as he swung his booted toe into the stirrup. “Did he also tell you whether he can catch those YNG horses up?”

 

“Of course,” Murdock replied as he started over to Carlton who was staring at his mount in nothing short of horror. “He says they’re donkeys compared to his team!”

 

Hannibal couldn’t fight back the smile at those words and just hoped they were right. As Jonno and Tubbs jumped out of the back of the old lorry, shoving the doors shut behind them, Hannibal pulled on Thunder’s reins until he was facing the tracks left by the Apache and the YNG before kicking him forward. “Come on, men!” he shouted, feeling ridiculously like something out of a wild west movie, “Time to move out!”

 

Murdock’s gleeful, “Yeeha!” as he followed, leading Carlton in his wake, only reinforced that thought in his head and he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.

 

Maybe that was why, as he urged his mount into a lazy canter, he didn’t notice the additional, slightly fresher, set of hoof prints that flanked those left by the YNG.

 

__________________________

 

Face bit down on the frustration he could feel building with every single second that they were out here and jogged back down the rise until he flopped in an unceremonious heap next to BA and Markl. “They’re coming,” he reported flatly, getting savage pleasure in the way that Markl’s head snapped up at that. “Horseback, so we must have totalled their jeeps, but they’re still moving a hell of a lot faster than we are.”

 

That statement had Markl’s head dropping again and he sipped at his water as he stared at the dusty ground. BA frowned. “He’s going as fast as he can, Face...” he reminded gently, nudging at the water canteen in Face’s hand, urging him to take on some more liquid but a long sigh was all he got in reply.

 

Face scrubbed at his eyes and stared at the canteen. His throat was dry and he knew he should drink more, but his stomach was writhing in anxiety and every mouthful just made him feel like throwing up which would be a disaster out here. “We need to follow a steeper route,” he announced eventually and watched carefully for the reactions of the others as he spoke. BA he noted, was as impenetrable as ever, while Markl visibly wilted.

 

“We do that,” BA offered carefully, “we gonna be even slower.”

 

“I know, but they won’t be able to follow us that way,” Face countered.

 

“Unless they get off and walk too...”

 

Face went back to scrubbing at his eyes.

 

“I will go faster this time.” This was Markl, his eyes hooded and serious, the fear in them clear for all. “I cannot let them catch up with me again.”

 

Face turned to weigh him up. “Look, I know you academic types don’t do the outdoors much, but you’re gonna have to. They might want you alive but me and BA, not so much; we let them get close enough and we’ll end up with a bullet in the backs of our heads and you’ll be on your own. You fancy that?” Markl shook his head. “Okay then,” Face rose to his feet offering a hand to tug the scientist up after him. “We need to really push it here, up over the harshest terrain, ten minutes rest every two hours, eat and drink on the go. Agreed?” BA just shrugged, rising to join Face and shoulder his pack while Markl, eyes fixed on his battered sneakers, nodded bleakly.

 

_________________________

 

Thunder was a good horse, Hannibal conceded as they trekked forward through the last of the day’s light. He seemed to understand that they were following the hoof prints in the dirt from the other horses, which left Hannibal free to ride with his binoculars almost glued to his eyes, scanning the area in front of him for any sign of Face or the YNG. He also trusted Jonno implicitly as rear guard and knew that Murdock, despite keeping up an almost constant one-sided conversation with Petal, his horse, was also watching their surroundings carefully, looking for anything that may pose a danger. Despite this and the pace they had managed to maintain through the dry ground, he was frustrated not to have made visual contact with any of the targets they were pursuing before losing the day’s light.

 

Fed up of squinting through the darkening shadows, Hannibal shoved the binoculars into his pocket and tried to remember where the night vision scopes had been stashed as the horses pushed relentlessly onwards. Times like this, silent except for the dry thud of hooves and the soft monotone of Murdock’s voice, provided too much of an opportunity for his mind to wander, and despite his best intentions to the contrary, he found himself slipping again into dangerous introspection.

 

He was worried for Face, and for BA, they were his team and obviously Face was also much, much more, but he was also worried at what the hell the kid had got them into this time. He wasn’t at all concerned by Harker’s outlandish accusation that Face had made a deal with the Yemenis to extract Markl for them and keep him from the US teams sent to retrieve him, that didn’t make sense on even the simplest of levels, but he did wonder just what he thought he was doing clearing off into the desert like this, not a single attempt made to try and contact reinforcements before he went.

 

Dangerous thoughts prickled at the back of his mind, how maybe it wasn’t Face and BA in that Apache at all, that maybe they were already dead somewhere, that maybe one or both of them were injured, meaning that they weren’t thinking straight, that they were making decisions that were unsound, compromised. Or maybe there was more to this than Hannibal realised, maybe Face had got himself involved in something he couldn’t get out of... it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d made a doubtful decision, after all, and if that was the case, with Harker out for the kid’s blood, there would be little that Hannibal could do to protect him.

 

Thunder snorted loudly and Hannibal jolted out of his unpleasant thoughts. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to think of things like that, Face was older now, more mature, more seasoned, thought a lot more about his actions before he did them and more to the point – Hannibal trusted him. Whatever was happening here it was just like he had originally said, there was a damn good reason why Face and BA had taken off into the desert like that and Hannibal was going to find out exactly what it was. 

__________________________

 

The night was absolutely dark, a clear sky literally swarming with stars, a million tiny diamonds on a sea of black velvet, but none of the men who continued to toil up the side of the rock-strewn mountains had the time nor the energy to appreciate their beauty. For what seemed like the millionth time in the last hour, Face stopped to haul Markl back to his feet after he had slipped on the loose stones underfoot, BA pausing just ahead of them, his presence a dark shadow in an even darker night. Feeling the frustration building within him like a pressure cooker, Face took a deliberately long breath in and then out again, trying to keep a hold on his temper.

 

Markl was trying his level best here, Face knew that. The going was rough, even he and BA were struggling and they were a whole lot fitter than the scientist, also neither of them had spent as many days as he had holed up in the dungeons of _Badikh Jidar_. But still, the YNG wouldn’t cut them any slack over a ‘good effort’ and Face knew that unless they made quicker time, they would be overtaken well before they could get into Saudi Arabia.

 

“Alright?” he asked through semi-gritted teeth and Markl nodded, scrambling up the sharp incline once more as Face turned a futile stare into the darkness behind him. “It’ll get easier once the moon rises. At least you’ll be able to see where your damn feet are going then.”

 

Markl just looked even more crushed by those words, he’d obviously been hoping that they would have stopped for the night long before the moon had chance to rise. “We are not stopping?” he asked, his accent thicker with his weariness.

 

“No,” Face answered with a snap. “I told you that, two hours walking, ten minutes rest. Now stop your whining and save your energy for walking!”

 

The scientist did just that, his head bowing as he walked, trudging miserably along in BA’s wake.

 

________________________

 

“This will do for camp,” Hannibal said begrudgingly. “Make sure the horses are fed and watered before you hit the sack, loosen their girths and secure them to something as well, we don’t want them wandering off.”

 

The men took to following his orders immediately, a collective chorus of moans and groans the only sounds as they slid from their unfamiliar perches. Hannibal hadn’t wanted to stop at all, but apart from realising that the men and the horses needed the rest, the night was so absolutely dark that he couldn’t risk losing the trail of the YNG in the blackness. Sliding off Thunder’s back, he readily slipped the reins into Murdock’s outstretched hand and after instructing Jonno to make a sweep of the perimeter, Hannibal himself set out for the top of the nearest dune to see what he could make of the land.

 

The dark of the night meant that not much was visible, but the solid line of mountains very still visible as their jagged peaks cut black swathes out of the star strewn sky. Hannibal knew that Saudi Arabia lay beyond those peaks, and guessed that that was where his boy was headed. With a sigh he turned and made his way back to the makeshift camp. He also knew that about a hundred arduous miles lay between those mountains and safety, he hoped to hell that Face knew what he was doing.

 

______________________

 

“I hope you know what you, doing man...” BA muttered as their little walking party stopped for the allotted ten minute break. Face turned from where he’d been watching Markl as the older man took off his shoes to adjust his threadbare socks and massage his feet and met BA’s gaze head on.

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Meaning look at that dude,” he nodded at the scientist. “He aint up to this pace, man, you know he aint. You keep pushing him like this and he’ll fall down and never get back up again.”

 

“So what do you suggest then?” Face snapped, darkly satisfied that the corporal was back to finding him at fault. “’Cause if we don’t keep moving, those soldiers will have caught up with us by morning!”

 

BA sighed and rubbed his own tired eyes, trying to find the words that would put across his opinion without firing Face up on some defensive rant. He shook his head. “I dunno man, it’s the frying pan of the fire, right?” Face deflated a little at those words. “I just don’t fancy carrying the guy, that’s all.”

 

Silence fell and Markl lay back in the dirt, his eyes closed to the heavens as the two Rangers pondered their dilemma. “An hour,” Face eventually conceded. “You get some rest as well, and I’ll keep watch.”

 

“Two,” BA countered. “We get an hour each, I aint carrying you either.”

 

Two sets of stubborn eyes glared at each other in the darkness before Face looked away, a smile washing away some of the stress from his expression. “Okay, big guy,” he replied, rising to start his watch, “but if we all get killed, you can do the damn paperwork.”

 

______________________

 

 

The night was silent and still. Not a breath of wind to disturb the empty cold, not a single creature’s call to break the quiet. Hannibal, walking slowly around the perimeter of the camp, felt that he could quite possibly be the only living thing for miles around. The restless snort of one of the horses dispelled that notion and he shook himself against the chill, continuing his patrol and knowing he only had around twenty minutes left before Colly came to relieve him.

 

He didn’t have to take his turn on watch, he knew that none of the men under his command would think less of him if he didn’t, but that just wasn’t the way things worked for him. He never expected anything from his unit that he wouldn’t do himself, never asked anything that he himself wasn’t prepared to fulfil, and losing sleep was just another one of those chores. Plus it gave him time to think, to mull over the unexpected turn this op had taken and consider all the different twists and turns they may be faced with in the morning.

 

The moon was just starting to rise over the jagged outline of the mountains and he stopped for a moment to watch it, amazed as always at the speed it seemed to happen. The effect on the landscape around them was instantaneous, the white glow from that chunk of barren rock touching the desert landscape with silver, picking out every contour line with a magical, otherworldly glow.

 

Hannibal swallowed hard against the sudden wave of melancholy that washed through him as he watched the first of the moon’s giant craters rise above the mountain tops. Face loved the moon, loved nothing more than to lie on his back on the beach watching as it trawled sedately across the night sky. They’d spent evenings like that before, just the two of them, or with Murdock and BA once or twice, watching the moon, always the same moon, no matter what country, continent or hemisphere they were in. He watched it now, blinking away the tears that threatened him, and wished that Face were with him now, or at the very least he knew that the kid was safe.

 

Shaking himself and berating his very un-colonel-like thoughts, Hannibal turned back to the camp and went to wake Colly.

 

_________________________

 

Sitting on his butt on a rocky outcrop, Face watched the moon as it rose majestically above the vicious looking mountain tops. Usually, sitting like this, enjoying the quiet of the night, the glow of the moon, Face would be content, happy to let the beauty of the moment fill his head with peace, but tonight that peace was a long way from coming.

 

Not for the first time, Face wondered if there were other decisions that he could have made, _should_ have made, that would have led him away from this moment, this mess. It was hard to say, there were so many _’what ifs’_ he honestly didn’t know where to start looking at them. Not for the first time he felt that sick, swooping feeling in his stomach when he thought of Hannibal, and what he would have done in this situation. “Not get stuck between a frying pan and a fire, Face...” he murmured morosely to himself and let his eyes slide out of focus as they filled up on the silver light of the moon.

 

He loved the moon. It was odd, but it was the one constant thing he’d always had in his life. Whenever things got too much for him, began to make his mind whirl and his gut twist, he’d gone outdoors, climbed as high as he could and sat and stared at the moon. It was like an old friend who remained constant, never moved on, never tired of him, never left him behind. Even after he found Hannibal, the man who knew him like no other, loved him like he’d never even dreamed he could ever _be_ loved, even after that moment, the moon kept its place as his faithful companion.

 

But tonight, he would do anything to swap its presence for that of his colonel. He wasn’t made for this role in his life, he wasn’t a leader, he was a follower, and he wanted to follow Hannibal Smith until the end of their days. Tears prickled his eyes but he blinked them back, he needed to finish this op, get Markl back to safety, keep BA alive, make sure he returned to his lover, and then, after all that, he would go and see the General and make sure that he was never put in this position again. He prided himself on being the very best XO for Hannibal that he possibly could, but CO? No, never again.  

 

_________________________________

 

Hannibal’s crew were up and moving with the very first rays of morning light. It was cold, and Hannibal was looking forward to those rays being strong enough to warm him, even though he knew damn well that it wouldn’t be much longer after that before the heat was just oppressive. They were all fired up though and eager to get going; the rising dawn had revealed the silhouette of the distant Apache, its nose buried in a dune and even though Hannibal knew that Face wasn’t there with it, it provided him with the first tangible link that his boy had ever been here, that he was still close enough to catch.

 

They rode hard across the barren landscape, watching carefully for anyone left behind to guard the Apache, but it soon became clear that the YNG had left it to face the shifting sands alone.

 

“What do you think, Captain?” Hannibal asked, still astride an eagerly prancing Thunder, watching intently as Murdock poked about inside the ‘copter.

 

For a while there was nothing but silence in reply to his question, but then Murdock’s head popped up over the open canopy, his skin flushed red from his time in the sun. “I think she’s okay, Colonel sir. All we need to do is get her outta this sand and I reckon she’ll fly again,” he shrugged. “All depends on how much fuel she’s got and how much sand Face let her eat before he shut her down.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed at that assessment. The Apache could well be a very important addition to their rescue party here. It wouldn’t solve everything for them, after all it only seated two, three at an absolute push, but the fire power and the range it could cover would prove invaluable to them. But would it run? Was there too much sand in its workings? Had its fuel supply run out? There were so many considerations here. And how would they even get it out of the sand? It would take hours of work and maybe after all that, their efforts could be for nought. Meanwhile, his eyes flicked to the mountains again, Face was out there, with BA and a civilian, twenty highly trained soldiers on horseback after him and he needed their back up.

 

It was a difficult decision, but that’s what was expected from him, the burden of his command. He took a deep breath. “Alright men,” he called out into the expectant silence. “Carlton take the perimeter, everyone else; let’s start digging this baby out.”

 

_________________________

 

Hunkering down behind a large boulder, Face took one more scan of the landscape behind them. Their mounted pursuers were nowhere to be seen, nowhere at all, not even a cloud of dust or a circling bird to hint at their position. Shoving the glasses back into his pack, he hauled it up onto his shoulders and took off at a steady jog catching up with Markl and BA within minutes.

 

“Well?” said BA as soon as the LT drew alongside him and Face shook his head in frustration.

 

“Nothing,” he reported flatly, “Not a damn thing.”

 

The two Rangers fell into silence as they continued to toil up the rocky hillside but Markl looked over at them, his own brow creased in confusion. “But surely that is a good thing?” he asked. “If we have lost them?”

 

Face shook his head. “I very much doubt we’ve lost them,” he answered. “They’re not going to give up on you that easily, not when you can damage them the way you can.” Markl flushed. “They’re out there somewhere, probably ditched the horses and are following us on foot. It just means that we don’t know where they are and if we don’t know that,” he glanced at BA, “we don’t know when they will be popping up on us.” He looked Markl square in the eye. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to quicken the pace.”

 

No one spoke, but Markl visibly sagged at Face’s words.

 

___________________________

 

Hannibal’s eyes were burning with the sweat and the grit that constantly filled them; he looked around at his men and knew that they were feeling the same fatigue and frustration as he himself. The Apache was still partially buried in the sand. They had managed to clear a lot of it away so that the top of the nose was free, but whenever they took anything from the underneath, more just slid down from the side of the dune and took its place. Murdock was currently in the cockpit, trying to fire it up again after he and Jonno had been through the engines, clearing away as much of the debris as they could. So far however, the bird did not want to cooperate with them.

 

“Okay, Murdock!” Jonno called, “Try it now!”

 

Yet again Murdock tried to coax it into life, Hannibal could hear the pilot’s little muttered pleas and endearments, and yet again the Apache proved too stubborn to cooperate.   

 

Hannibal rubbed at his brow and looked at his men and horses, who were being forced to rest without shade and he began to think that staying here, trying this option had been a horrific waste of everyone’s time and energy.

 

“And again!” Jonno called and Hannibal decided that they couldn’t do this for a second longer. He opened his mouth to issue the order, but before he could speak, another voice beat him to it.

 

“Hannibal!” All eyes swivelled to Sandy who was out on perimeter guard. “Look!”

 

Now the eyes turned in the direction of _Badikh Jidar_ , and the cloud of dust only partially obscuring the single rider who was galloping hell for leather across the sands towards them. “Men!” Hannibal commanded and as one, weapons were drawn and the whole team were fanning out covering the entire area between them. “Murdock, Jonno! Keep trying, everyone else, stay alert.”

 

They waited as the rider came closer and closer until the horse’s sweat soaked coat and foam flecked mouth were clear, evidence of how hard they had ridden from _Badikh Jidar_. The rider however, cloaked as he was in scarves against the sun and grit, remained anonymous to them, right up to the point when he finally saw all the weapons pointed his way and reined in his exhausted mount, his arms raised with his voice. “Hannibal! It’s me! At ease!”

 

_____________________

 

“That’s the last of the food,” Face reported in a voice barely loud enough for BA to hear as they watched Markl quickly devouring a Peanut Hooah bar.

 

BA rubbed at his forehead. “Man, we in the shit here,” he muttered and Face wasn’t about to disagree. “We never gonna make it all the way to Saudi with no rations.”

 

“We just need to keep going,” Face tried to cheer him. “Once we get to a lower altitude chances are we’ll find something along the way we can eat. Goats, berries, fish, there’ll be something, Big Guy, you know there will.”

 

BA looked less than convinced on that point, and Face found that he really couldn’t blame him.

 

_________________________

 

Hannibal was not at all pleased to see their latest guest, a fact that was obvious to all around him due to the deep frown lines on his forehead. “What did I tell you?” he snapped, as the rider dismounted in front of him. “You had your orders and you had a job to do soldier! What are you doing here, now?”

 

There was a pause, “Hannibal, _Colonel_ , sir, I-”

 

“You _know_ I wanted you to watch Harker! I don’t trust that sneaky little bastard as far as I can throw him!” he shook his head. “Who’s gonna watch him now, hey Sharkie? Who’s gonna stop him from making Face out to be the bad guy here?”

 

Sharkie, angry as he clearly was, had had enough experience of a pissed off Hannibal Smith to know that he wasn’t going to get anywhere yelling back at the man. “Colonel, sir,” he snapped out, standing to attention in the blazing sun. “Harker’s gone, man,” his stance drooped with his indignation. “Shit, boss, I’m sorry. He took off straight away, just disappeared. The Major sent out a search party for him but told me he’d gone after Face, told me the little shit left him a note.”

 

“A note?” Hannibal’s frown deepened. “What did it say? And where the fuck is he now?” Sharkie just shrugged at that second question as he took a swig from the water canteen Colly held out for him as the other men crowded around. “Did you see the note?” Hannibal tried again, desperately forcing patience into his tone.

 

Sharkie squinted at him. “Steiner wouldn’t let me see it,” he reported and Hannibal swore under his breath but Sharkie just grinned. “So I stole it and read it.”

 

Brightening considerably at that, Hannibal clapped him on the shoulder, “Good man!”

 

But then as fast as it had arrived, the smile vanished. “It said, ‘Major Steiner, if I don’t make it back, please pass this note onto the C.I.D. I have gone after Lieutenant Peck as I have hard evidence that he has made a deal with the Yemeni authorities to foil our plan to extract Markl and he intends to hand him back to them in exchange for monetary remuneration’ or some fancy shit word like that.”

 

Expressionless, Hannibal just nodded. “That it?”

 

Sharkie nodded, “Just some other stink about how Face has always been playing close to the edge... You know the stuff.” Hannibal sighed hard as he turned away. He did, unfortunately. It seemed that Face had a natural talent for courting trouble that certainly had not gone unnoticed.

 

“You think Steiner believed him?” he asked, very aware of the many sets of ears gathered around them and yet again Sharkie nodded.

 

“He wouldn’t let me out here to warn you, I had to wait until we got the agents back, called an extraction, and then I ran for it.” A headache was threatening to erupt right behind Hannibal’s eyes and he rubbed them hard trying to dissuade it. So now he not only had to find Face and work out what the hell he was doing running for the hills with the mark, now he would have to explain why Sharkie went AWOL in the middle of an op as well.

 

“Okay, Shark,” he said simply, removing his fingers from his eyes and clapping the man on the back, “Take some water on and try and get some rest, another thirty minutes and we are out of here. Looks like Harker’s got a head start on us and we need to get to Face before he does. Good work there, son.”

 

Pleased with the simple praise, Sharkie made for the shade provided by the horses and plopped down in the sand on his back while Hannibal returned to watching the futile battle to get the Apache to wake up.

 

_________________________

 

“When are we stopping for food?” Yet again, Markl’s polite voice drifted back to Face’s ears and yet again Face ignored him. It seemed, however, that this time the scientist would not be so easily dissuaded. “I am sorry to keep going on,” he said, stopping on the rough track, blocking Face’s path and making BA halt ahead of them both. “But I didn’t eat much in their prison, and I am starting to get a little dizzy.” He glanced at BA who sighed and looked back at Face waiting to see how the lieutenant would handle this.

 

No one spoke. Face was looking out at the empty mountains around them his expression blank, but BA could see the tension in his jaw. Eventually he turned back and BA mentally braced himself for the explosion.

 

“Christian,” Face’s voice, however, when it came was slow and moderated; the anger was there, of course, but BA knew it was being held back, controlled by an iron will and he was impressed. “I apologise if I haven’t quite made our position clear enough here.” Markl frowned. “We had not planned in taking you out of the Yemen on foot like this, we were forced into it by circumstances very much beyond our control.” BA knew that Markl did not need to hear that they suspected he’d been sold out by one of the very men sent to protect him. “Because this wasn’t planned we have no suitable maps, no GPS, no radios, no phone. We’ve got very little ammo, limited water supplies and _no more food_.” Markl paled. “But we do have a choice: keep going despite all of that, or let the YNG catch up and hand you back, they will have plenty of supplies I am sure.” He paused to let his words sink in. “It’s your call.”

 

Silence fell again and BA found himself holding his breath. Despite Face’s little speech and the anger he could detect in it, he was shocked that the man would let Markl just go like that, hand him back when their mission brief demanded the exact opposite. Hannibal wouldn’t, he knew that for a fact and he also knew that the colonel would be disappointed with Face for even considering ditching the mark like that. He looked at Face, trying to work out what was going on behind those set eyes, but the man was irritatingly hard to get a bead on. Instead he glanced over at Markl, alerted by his long sigh of resignation. “We keep going,” the scientist answered and without even waiting for Face to reply he turned on his heel and started trailing back up the mountain.

 

Face’s expression didn’t flicker as he turned and followed, BA falling into step next to him as they continued upwards. The silence was heavy and eventually BA found he couldn’t hold back the question that was churning around inside of him. “You were gonna do that? Let him go like that?” he asked, quiet enough that only Face could hear.

 

With a snap, those blue eyes were suddenly on him and BA felt his stomach clench at the brief flash of disappointment he saw there before it was carefully smoothed away. “No,” came the short reply. “I wasn’t. But if he’d said no that woulda given me the excuse I needed to knock him out and sling him over my shoulder. Bet we could go faster with him like that, than like this.” At that Face quickened his step to move away from BA and the big man sighed, knowing that his words had just put another dent in what _had_ been their strengthening relationship.

 

_______________________

 

At the foot of the hills, Hannibal was faced with a dilemma. There were obvious tracks leading up into the mountains, three sets of feet and he knew that they were left by his men and their mark; the fact that Face had made no efforts to conceal them worried him as it told him that his XO had thought the extra work would be a futile waste of time. But a quarter of a mile over to his left they’d seen horse prints, lots of them, all heading into what looked like was going to be a narrow pass.

 

Hannibal was torn. Follow the enemy or follow his boy?

 

He knew what he wanted to do, what was burning so fiercely in him that he could actually feel his muscles tingling at the current inaction. But then he also knew what he _should_ do. With a sigh, he glanced up at the foot prints one more time, then hauled around on Thunder’s reins and turned him back to the pass.

 

________________________

 

Trying to ignore the creeping evening cold and his own rumbling stomach, Face wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the blood red sky and its dripping sun. They were having a quick break, Markl was stumbling all the time, although he’d never mentioned food again, and was currently curled into a ball at the foot of boulder, dead to the world and Face hoped he was going to wake up with a bit more strength as they had a hell of a long way to go yet. 

 

“Why don’t you get some rest?” BA’s voice cut into his thoughts and he found himself shaking his head and hunching even further into himself, not in the mood for any more of the big guy’s criticism of him just then.

 

But BA wasn’t to be put off and with a sigh he sat down on the lip of the overhang next to Face, turning his eyes to the sunset as well. Face braced himself for round one hundred and two of their disagreements but it never came. BA was as silent as the rocks around them and together they sat and waited until the last of the sun had dropped and only the orange stain of its passing remained.

 

“We better get going,” Face said quietly, clambering to his feet and BA followed him.

 

“Face,” he called, just as Face was heading to wake Markl and he turned, the two men warily considering each other. “You and me,” BA continued, standing at the edge of the lip, “we’re different, man, you know that right?” Face shrugged. “Me, well I’m all black and white. And you? You’re shades of grey. Doesn’t mean either of us are wrong.”

 

Face watched him for a moment, then shrugged again and turned away leaving BA watching after him.

_______________________

 

“How much longer are you planning on going on tonight, Hannibal?” Jonno asked, nudging his own horse up alongside Hannibal’s.

 

There was a pause before the answer came, a pause that Hannibal used to gauge the possible impact of his words carefully. “I think we’ll push on.”   

 

“You’re not worried we’ll pass them by?” Jonno asked carefully.

 

Hannibal shook his head. “No. They have too much of a head start on us, even Face and BA'll be at least half a day ahead of us here. We need to push on.”

 

Jonno wasn’t thrilled, Hannibal could see that in his face, even with the meagre evening light, but he didn’t push the issue and for that he was relieved. With a nod he turned his horse and retreated back to the rear of the group and Hannibal just kept going onwards.

 

______________________

 

They’d stopped again; this time only briefly so that BA could relieve himself, but Markl was already asleep, slumped against the base of a rock, his limbs sprawled and heavy. Face sighed and leaned against the same rock, letting it take some of the weight of his pack and felt his own head drooping – he was exhausted.

 

“You okay, man?” BA coming back onto the path from the scrub beyond was illuminated by the ghostly white light of the moon, but he still looked just about as worn down as Face felt and without waiting for an answer dropped his butt onto a low rock, groaning at the stiffness of his thighs.

 

“Yeah,” Face answered him quietly. “How far do you think we’ve come?”

 

BA paused as he considered the question. Truthfully, thinking of the speed they had managed to coax out of Markl and the difficult terrain they’d been covering he felt that they would be lucky if they’d gone twenty miles, but he wasn’t sure it that was the answer that Face was looking for. “I dunno,” he said eventually, deciding to hedge his bets instead, “I reckon we might-”  

 

“Shh!” Face interrupted, pushing soundlessly to his feet and slipping the pack off his back all at the same time, his eyes peering futilely into the darkness around them as he wished for some night vision scopes. BA was on his feet as well, weapon in his hand, eyes on Face as he tried to work out what the other man had heard. With a few quick gestures, the big man placed himself next to Markl’s prone form, and Face crept away, ears straining for a repeat of the noise he’d heard.

 

The night was still and fairly quiet and Face edged further and further away from the track until he reached a precipice where the mountain vista opened up before him, dark and vast but all the sharp edges highlighted in silver from the light of the moon. Knowing how a silhouette could stand out in this sharp light, he lowered himself to his stomach and edged forward, all senses on alert for the source of the noise.

 

He didn’t have to wait long before the answer came to him and his heart kicked into overdrive. In an instant he was scrabbling away from the edge and was back on his feet, jogging soundlessly through the scrub, arriving at BA’s side in a moment, a hell of a lot more energised than he had been when he’d left.

 

“We’re in trouble,” he reported smartly, trying to nudge their guest awake. “You know why we haven’t seen any YNG for the last day or so?” Markl sat up and blinked blearily at him as BA hauled his pack up onto his back, shaking his head, not sure he liked the direction this conversation was going in. “It’s ‘cause the fuckers have come round the side on us.” His own pack was back on now and he was dragging Markl to his feet. “They’re down there,” he pointed to the ridge behind him. “They’ve stopped to make camp I reckon, but they’ll have overtaken us before we know it if we don’t get a move on.” He was ready to go now, but Markl had slumped against the rock, his hands on his knees, his posture screaming defeat.

 

“I can’t...” he muttered, his pleading eyes on Face, but Face just looked back at him.

 

“You gotta,” BA answered decisively grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. “You heard what Face said, we stay here, they get you and you already said you don’t want that so we keep goin’.”

 

There were no more complaints as the three men set off into the darkness once more, but the silence between them spoke volumes of their growing despondency.

 

______________________

 

Hannibal only stopped for the night when he felt that the horses had done as much as they could, and he fully intended setting off again with the first rays of the morning sun. The night’s guard duty was split into three so it meant that he could have a whole period of rest until it was time to move on again, but as he lay in his bedroll, eyes starring, unseeing, at the vast array of stars above him, he felt that sleep was a long way off.  

 

The tracks on the mountainside, Sharkie’s news of Harker, the hoof prints in the pass, the slur against Face’s name and reputation were all swirling around and around in his head, making him think that they were a long way off an end to this whole saga yet.

 

The moon had almost set for the night by the time he finally managed to slip into a troubled sleep.

 

______________________

 

“Jesus, _fuck_!” Face exploded, scrambling back to his feet and staring in dismay at the blood dripping from the palm of his hand.

 

“Alright?” BA asked from behind him and Face turned to see his corporal almost dragging Markl along the path. The scientist’s eyes were closed and he was walking on autopilot, looking just about as scuffed and exhausted as the Rangers who were with him.

 

Face shook his head and roughly wiped at the jagged cut on his hand with the scarf from around his neck. “No, BA,” he snapped, his voice rough and worried. “I’m fucking not. And neither are you and neither is he and still those fucking bastards down there are catching us!”

 

He looked up and caught BA’s eyes and the two stared at each other in silence before Face dropped his gaze and shook his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding here, Bosco? We aren’t gonna outrun those guys down there,” he looked up at Markl, almost comatose at BA’s side. “And even if we did, we’re only gonna get him out of the country by hauling his dead ass outta here on our backs...”

 

They’d been walking all day, never stopping for more than a few minutes at a time and yet they’d not managed to pull away from the horse men in the ravine below them, not by even the smallest margin.

 

BA sighed. “It aint that bad yet...” he muttered and Face let out a dry laugh.

 

“No? We still got a few hours left before that happens?” He shook his head again and slumped down on the ground where he stood. “Get some rest BA, before you fall down as well. We can’t go on like this.”

 

Biting back a groan at his protesting muscles, BA lowered Markl to the ground. “You get some rest,” he countered. “I’ll stand guard.”

 

“No point,” Face whispered leaning on his pack, his eyes drooping, his hand steadily dripping unnoticed blood onto the dusty ground. “They’re not gonna come up here looking for us, they’re gonna set up an ambush some place once they pull ahead, let us walk right into it.”

 

With that Face’s eyes slid shut and BA watched him for a moment, wondering if he should get the first aid kit out, but then his own lethargy caught up with him and before he knew it, he was asleep as well.

 

___________________________

 

It was dark when BA awoke, a thick black night, warmer than those of late, and he was disorientated, blinking the cloying sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself up off the hard and dusty ground. It didn’t take him long to get his senses back into gear, however, and he looked about him, blinking away the last of his sleep, ears straining for a sound in the darkness. It was almost silent, however, only Markl’s steady breathing over to his left a sign that he wasn’t the only human left on the earth. Wincing at the soreness of his muscles, he pushed himself to his feet and went off in search of Face.

 

He found the LT flat on his stomach on the edge of a sharp ravine, chin on his hands, eyes fixed on the sight below him. BA dropped down just behind him and shuffled forward, making sure he didn’t dislodge any of the loose stones and give away their position. They lay in silence for a few minutes, watching the still and silent YNG camp by the light of the almost full moon until Face eventually spoke, his voice nothing more than a breath in the darkness. “If we carry on like this, we’re not gonna make it; you know that, right?” he asked.

 

BA kept his eyes on the scene below. “Gonna take a miracle,” he admitted carefully.

 

“We’ve lost the upper hand,” Face continued, “and we need it back.”

 

Shifting slighting onto his hip, BA twisted to look at him. There was something in Face’s voice, a sense of urgency and _hope_ that BA hadn’t heard in days and it set his own heart beating as well. “You got a plan?” he asked and Face just wriggled backwards, away from the precipice, but the smile on his lips said it all.

 

______________________

 

Murad al-Assadi stifled a yawn as he turned his tired eyes around the sleeping camp once more and wondered how much longer they were going to have take part in this wild goose trail. When he’d first got this posting with the YNG he'd certainly hoped it was going to be a lot more exciting than it had been to date. They seemed to spend a ridiculously long time in the desert, being cooked to a cinder while simultaneously trying not to dehydrate to the point of death, and as a boy from the big city of Sana’a, deserts were not high on his list of fun places to go.

 

This latest mission, although it had started out as a simple retrieval, had promised to turn into something a whole lot more exciting once their targets had set out across the sands in the stolen Apache. Despite himself, Murad smiled at that, he just knew that whoever their mystery mark was, he must be one crazy guy to have taken off like that, _taxiing_ the twelve million dollar aircraft out of the city like it was a sand bug. Certainly sounds a whole lot more fun than spending days on horseback, trying not to die of sheer boredom or saddle sores.

 

He turned again, looking out at the blackness around him. In his opinion they were never going to catch the crazy guy now. He’d be dead, him and the accomplices that Captain Zein said he had. Those rocks above were unforgiving and brutal and there would be no way they could carry enough food and water to last them. Still, if the desert had claimed them, then it would save Murad the worry over making his first kill. The orders from above had been clear, they had a photo of the man the Government were after, a short, non-descript looking Westerner, and anyone with him must be taken out, bodies disposed of, no trace of them to be left at all. Murad wasn’t stupid, he knew when he joined up that there would be a time he’d need to kill another man, but he wasn’t looking forward to it, not at all.

 

A sound over his left shoulder caught his attention, just a soft scuffing noise, like a foot on the rough ground and he turned, expecting to see a desert fox scuttling back into the rocks. He was unprepared for the solid fist he saw instead and by the time he’d registered it heading towards him he was already on his way to the dirt. An arm around his neck quickly followed, as did the darkness that claimed him and it was all so fast that Murad didn’t even have the chance to appreciate the sudden shift into excitement that the night had taken.

 

__________________________

 

Face waited until he saw BA take out the last perimeter guard, holding him down on the ground until his frantic struggles ceased, and then he crept forward to the horses, watching them carefully as they shuffled restlessly at his approach. This was the part when he knew it could all blow up in his face; he needed to get the horses away, _all_ of the horses, before any of the soldiers awoke – and horse whisperer he wasn’t.

 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, as he unbuckled one set of reins after another, pleased to find that the YNG had re-tacked their horses before turning in for the night and he was grateful for that fact; his inner-city LA high school hadn’t really covered how to saddle a horse. “It’s okay, take it easy guys...” he whispered at their restless pawing.

 

He looked up, just as BA twisted from his sentry position to look back at him and make their well used, ‘hurry-the-fuck-up’ gesture. Face rolled his eyes but kept his fingers busy fastening the horses together in sets of three, linking them again to a lead horse through the stirrup leathers, and then he was done, standing back to signal to BA as the horses shuffled and blew around him. They took a horse each, neither of them alighting with any real finesse due to the fact that they hadn’t realised how loosely the saddles had been secured, but eventually they were on, and with a quick kick of his heels, Face turned his ride away from the camp and towards the darkness where Markl was waiting with the gear and that was the point, rather predictably, that everything went to shit.

 

All it took was one, fairly short snort of distress from one of the tethered horses and it seemed as if every single soldier was awake and scrabbling for his weapon. BA had been about to slide off and tighten the girth on his saddle, but at Face’s quick shout of warning he stayed where he was, instead kicking his mount into action alongside Face’s.

 

For a second, it seemed that their escape was going to be cut horribly short when the horses objected to being fastened together as they were, but then, helpfully and perhaps not so helpfully, the YNG started shooting at them. The shots caused panic among the horses, undoubtedly used to gun fire as they were, they weren’t used to being roused by strangers in the thick dark and tied together before being forced to make a run for it, the gun shots were simply the last straw by that point and they took off as if they were fastened to rockets.

 

Face hung grimly on, not even able to turn in his saddle and check if BA was still with him and as they thundered through the pass, gun shots reverberating around them in the enclosed space, he began to see a couple of glaring holes in his plan that he hadn’t noticed before. First of all, the dark was so complete and the speed of the horses so fast and panic stricken, that he wondered if he would even be able to _see_ where they had left Markl, never mind persuade the horses to stop so they could pick him up. The last thing he needed was to have to turn around and come back for the man...

 

And then there were the gunshots. Of course he had considered the possibility that he or BA could be shot and they had planned for that eventuality, knowing that getting Markl to safety was the real issue here, but he hadn’t factored in a plan of action in case one of the _horses_ were shot; fastened together as they were that would be nothing short of an absolute disaster. Leaning forward, he pushed his horse on, knowing that it wouldn’t be that much further before they were well out of range of the bullets and just hoping that their luck held.

 

In the end it did, doubly. Not only did they manage to get themselves and all fifteen horses away from the camp in one piece, they also managed to slow the stampede down enough so that when they saw Markl, standing waving to them from the rocks Face noticed with gritted teeth, it was no trouble at all to rein them all in, puffing and blowing as they were.

 

“Shit, man, that was tight...” BA muttered, slipping off his mount and quickly checking out all the other horses.

 

“It was,” Face agreed shortly as he helped Markl up onto another ride, “I thought we were dog meat for sure when your saddle slipped.” Ducking under the reins of Markl’s horse to grab the packs, Face came face-to-face with BA who had just finished his quick check. They almost ran into each other in their haste to get going again, but stopped and within a second two identical grins spread over their weary faces.

 

A fist bump later and they were climbing up again BA’s muttering of, “Damn that jazz,” making Face’s grin wider and Markl look at them both as if they were simply crazy.

 

__________________________

 

The joy of not having to walk soon wore off when the sun rose over the sides of the rocks, turning the narrow pass into a heat trap. There had been cursory rations stored in the saddle bags and plenty of water, so at least the men could break their enforced fast as they trailed through the stifling heat, not daring to push the horses too hard in case they collapsed.

 

“BA,” Face called from under the protection of his scarf, “he okay?” He nodded at Markl, who was decidedly slumped in his seat and BA nodded.

 

“Yeah,” he answered. “He’s sleepin’. Fool’s been _snoring_! You get that? Actually snoring!” He shook his head.

 

“Beats his fucking whining,” Face muttered back, “I’ll take him asleep any day.” His eyes, the only part of his face that could be seen under his scarf glanced mischievously over at BA. “And anyway, who are you to complain about people snoring?” He shook his head. “First time I shared a room with you, I thought someone was killing a buffalo or something!”

 

BA twisted in his saddle and flicked the ends of his reins at Face’s knee. “And you can say that to me?” he shot back, “The noises I put up with from you and the boss?” Face froze, his gut twisting in apprehension, but BA just laughed and nudged his horse further forward. “Shit, man. I’d rather bunk in with the fool than have to listen to that!”

 

Following in his wake, Face found himself smiling too.

 

_________________________

 

A few hours later, however, the smile had gone as they reined in their horses and stared despondently at the rock fall that blocked the pass in front of them. “Fucking ace...” Face grumbled, looking back at BA’s frown and Markl’s bleak expression. “We’re gonna have to ditch the horses and start climbing again boys.”

 

Markl didn’t react at all, he didn’t look like he had the energy to while BA remained silent, his eyes flicking backwards and forwards over the rubble. “I dunno, man,” he said eventually, dropping the reins of the horses he led and kicking his own mount forward. “Them rocks aren’t new and I reckon that enough people must use this pass that they’ll have made a way through.” He rode right up to the edge of the boulders and started looking carefully at them as he moved along, checking each one for an entrance.

 

“Hey!” Face’s voice broke into his inspection and he turned around, looking over to where the LT was pointing and nodded in satisfaction. Behind them and slightly to the left, a path, just wide enough for one horse at a time, wound up gently into the sides of the gully they were in, disappearing into the rocks above them.

 

“Told you!” he shouted as he pointed his horse towards the new path.

 

“We gonna be able to get the nags up there though?” Face asked, looking at Markl and knowing that if he couldn’t ride a horse then they were going to have to carry him.

 

BA nodded at once. “Sure. We unfasten them, let them follow each other, one of us at the front, one at the back, it’ll be fine.”

 

Face was happy with that, so they quickly unfastened the horses and set off up the track, Face bringing up the rear of the most unlikely parade he’d ever been a part of.

 

__________________________

 

As night approached, Face felt that they had managed to put enough space between themselves and the stranded YNG to make something like a proper camp for the night and have more than just a snatched hour of sleep. As usual, Markl was asleep within minutes of finishing his rudimentary supper and BA shook his head as he prepared for first watch. “I wish I could go out like he does,” he muttered to Face. “Must be nice, all that sleep.”

 

Face, reclining against a rock whilst savouring the last of his unleavened bread watched Markl closely in the light from the setting sun. “I dunno,” he muttered. “Guy doesn’t look well to me, hope he’s not gonna keel over and die on us after all this.”

 

“Get some sleep,” BA just told him. “He’ll be alright, and I’ll wake you in three hours.”

 

Face nodded and shuffled into a more comfortable position against his rock.

 

__________________________

 

In the end, it wasn’t BA that woke Face, he was roused from his exhausted slumber by a burst of pain exploding across his cheek, so hot and fierce and far too real to be part of his disturbing dreams. He scrambled back to awareness, fingers groping for his M9 even as Harker’s snide voice bit into his thoughts.

 

“Don’t bother, Peck,” he hissed, “I’ve already got it.”

 

Unfortunately, Face’s desperate search for his gun seemed to prove Harker right, and instead he forced his muscles to still and his eyes to focus around the pain as he attempted to make sense of the mess he had woken up in.

 

Markl was where he had been when Face had fallen asleep, but his skin was covered in a sheen of sickly sweat that made Face’s thoughts from the night before come straight back into his head. BA was nowhere to be seen and the distant strip of light on the horizon told Face that it had been far longer than the three hours he’d promised.

 

“And you needed bother looking for Baracus either. He’s dead.”

 

Face lifted a shaking hand to his cheek and probed at the area that was still radiating pain all over his body. It was swollen and slowly leaking blood from a shallow scrape and he realised that the bastard had kicked him awake and he’d be lucky if his cheekbone wasn’t broken. His eyes slowly focussed enough to pick out Harker as he lounged on a rock six feet away, his own gun pointing Face’s way, Face’s M9 at his feet and a smug, stupid grin on his face. “If you’ve killed BA,” Face countered, hating the residual slur in his voice, “then you’re dead.”

 

Harker laughed. “Brave words indeed coming from the man I could have shot while he was asleep on the job. Sloppy, Peck,” he shook his head theatrically, “very, very sloppy.”

 

Face flushed, knowing damn well that was true and stayed silent.

 

“Not that it makes much difference,” Harker beamed at him. “I’m going to kill you anyway. I just wanted you to know who it was that was sending you to hell, and what I’m going to be doing while you’re there.”

 

Again, Face didn’t answer. As much as he realised that BA being dead was a very real possibility, the rule in the team was, no body - no death, so he would continue in the hopes that the big guy had made it. If that were the case then BA would need some time before he could help out, plus Face needed a little time himself to stop his head from reeling in pain so if Harker wanted to go on a power trip for a while, then that would suit them all down to the ground. There was always the chance that Face could piss him off as well; in his experience, pissed off people tended to act rashly and that _could_ actually work in his favour here...

 

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Harker continued, happily oblivious to the thoughts running through Face’s head.

 

Face raised an eyebrow at him. “When I’m dead? And what the fuck use would there be in that, you prick?” Harker just laughed, and Face knew he’d have to work a little harder at riling the guy. “And anyway, aren’t you supposed to be one of the good guys here? What would daddy say if he knew you were licking Yemeni ass?”

 

That hit the mark and Harker’s eyes narrowed. “I _am_ the good guy,” he hissed. “Not like you, sailing through life in Smith’s wake, fawning over his every word, protected from the shit the rest of us have to go through just ‘cause the man thinks he’s a fucking god!” Face kept his expression neutral, but he was beginning to wonder if Harker’s problem was with him or Hannibal. Or both of them. Plus the whole thing was a huge crock of rubbish; Face had had more than his fair share of shit in his time in the army, Harker had no idea what the hell he was talking about.    

 

But still the man continued. “I wonder how that glowing image will survive this though? His favourite little cock-sucker working for the Yemenis, trading a mark to the highest bidder, slipping his leash to run into the mountains?” Markl shook his head. “Mud sticks you know. It’ll destroy his career, maybe even make him an appointment with his own gun barrel. Sad waste of a life.”

 

“You’re wasting your time,” Face countered, trying to hide the nervous pounding of his heart. “Hannibal won’t believe that shit. He knows what a devious little prick you are.”

 

Harker shrugged. “I’m not really bothered what the _Colonel_ believes. I’ve laid enough honey down so that plenty of others will have their suspicions about you, and when I reappear with the mark I grabbed back off you and stories of how you and Baracus ran for the hills when I caught up with you, there’ll be no other version of events to challenge me.”

 

Face’s blood ran cold; he’d been so, so wrong in thinking that Harker had taken a bribe off the Yemeni’s to keep Markl out of US hands... No, the bastard was actually smarter than that, this whole thing had been a set up to make it look like that’s what _Face_ had done, and of course by not listening to BA and taking Markl alone, he’d played right into Harker’s hands - he was an idiot. “You think Markl will go along with that?” he said carefully, keeping his expression blank while his mind whirled around his predicament.

 

Looking down at the man on the ground near his feet, Harker just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter one way or the other,” he said. “Looks like the guy won’t make it out of here with that fever he’s got there. And even if he does,” his smile widened, “it won’t be _my_ gun that kills him.”

 

Silence fell as the first fingers of light crept cautiously through the sky and Face considered his position. Essentially it seemed that he was fucked, well and truly, and that Harker’s vendetta against him had a pretty good chance of playing out right to the end. “Why?” he asked, unable to stop the word from bubbling out of him.

 

Cocking his head to one side, Harker considered him. “Because I hate you?” he offered. “Because you walked into a place on that team that I applied for over and over again? Because Hannibal fucking Smith needs bringing down a peg or two? Because I’m fed up of my father asking about my next promotion? Because you are a charlatan, a talentless shyster who has been stealing a living for far too long? Take your pick, Peck – they’re all true.” Face just stared bleakly at him. “But now, I really must be going,” he rose carefully to his feet, gun still firmly pointing Face’s way. “Any last requests?”

 

Face’s heart had kicked into overdrive as he realised that there was still no sign of BA, or Hannibal for that fact who _usually_ managed to turn up just when Face really needed him to. Harker’s rant had seemed to distract _Face_ more than the man himself, and he wasn’t even that riled, just calmly confident and yet again Face realised that he was fucked – there was only one other thing for it. “Come on, Ged,” he said, his eyes wide and frightened. “Don’t do this, please don’t do this...”

 

Harker shook his head and barked, “Get up.”

 

“Please,” Face whispered, his wet eyes looking up at the man standing over him.

 

“You’re _begging_?” there was laughter in Harker’s eyes now. “Oh, fucking priceless! I never expected that from you, Peck!”

 

“Please!” Face shuffled onto his knees, and turned his dirty face up to his captor. “I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll resign from Hannibal’s unit, I’ll put in a good word for you with the boss, I’ll tell the whole fucking world that you rescued Markl yourself! Just please don’t kill me, Ged, _please_ , oh god...” He dissolved into sobs at this point, loud and harsh, his hands over his eyes, his shoulders shaking.

 

“Call yourself a Ranger?” Harker spat, his lip curled in contempt. “You’re pathetic! Look at you, snivelling like a baby. Get up and take it like a man!”

 

“Please!” Face entreated him, reaching out with a shaking hand, the skin filthy with blood and dirt and tears. “I’ll do anything you ask, Ged, _anything_. But please, I don’t want to die...”

 

“Get up!” Harker yelled as Face withdrew his grasping hand and went back to sobbing. “You make me sick! Get the fuck up, now!” he punctuated his last sentence with a kick aimed at the kneeling man’s side.

 

He never knew what hit him. The second his foot made contact with Face’s ribs, it was grabbed in two sure hands and twisted with a lift that had Harker on his back in the dirt. The gun went off and Face felt the heat as it trailed across his forehead, missing his skull by mere millimetres and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give Harker the chance to take a better aim. He dived forward, his weight on Harker’s chest, both hands on the wrist holding the gun, his feet desperately trying to pin flailing legs, and he lifted the arm with the weapon, slamming it back to the ground and watching in satisfaction as the Glock skittered out of Harker’s fingers and came to rest at the base of a large boulder.

 

The victory came at a price, however, as Harker’s free hand sailed upwards, catching him hard on his injured cheek and Face recoiled automatically, shifting his weight enough to enable Harker to buck him off. They both dived for the gun, two hands reaching the weapon simultaneously, Face’s head connecting smartly with the boulder and he saw stars again, hanging on grimly even as Harker tried to turn the barrel around and point it at him.

 

“You bastard,” the Captain seethed, his teeth clamped together as the gun, now wrapped in four hands, slowly, slowly turned Face’s way.

 

“You mug,” Face countered, the clean streaks on his face from the false tears mocking Harker’s fury. “You should never have fallen for an old trick like that. And now you have, I’m going to kill _you_.”

 

Face’s words and the calm deadly look in his eyes seemed to rattle Harker and his moves took on a panicked, jerky edge. Despite that, however, he did have the upper hand, literally, on Face and slowly, slowly, the gun barrel edged towards him. At the last possible second, just as Harker’s grin was threatening to reappear, Face stopped resisting, he let the gun and the man crash down on top of him, letting rip with his own grim smile of satisfaction as he heard the thud of Harker’s head striking the boulder and again the gun fell free.

 

The relief was short lived, however, as a knee suddenly came crashing down into his groin and he curled in on himself, a cry of agony yanked from his lips at the move. Above him, Harker made a lunge for the gun once more and Face blindly grabbed at his leg, twisting him back as he fought through the searing agony still burning between his thighs. They wrapped around each other, Face trying to use his body weight enough to subdue the man while his legs refused to cooperate and slowly, slowly, the pain receded enough to see him let fly with his fist, catching Harker in the throat and the resulting gasping he heard was music to his ears.            

 

Craning his head as he held tight to the wheezing man above him, Face could see that the gun had been knocked clear, spinning until it was almost ten feet away from them, whilst ten feet the other way was his own.

 

Again Harker lunged for the gun, Face hanging grimly to his lower leg, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to be able to throw him off, Harker resorted to different tactics, twisting onto his back in the dust and stamping down onto the head and shoulders of the man clinging on to him.

 

Face dropped his head and hung on even more tightly, waiting, waiting until just the right moment. And there it was, a particularly vicious stamp just grazed off Face’s shoulder and the momentum brought Harker’s leg down to lie parallel with his other. Face moved like lightening, grabbing both shins tightly, scrambling to his knees and flipping the man over, bending his heels up into his ass and pinning him there.

 

Harker yelled out at the painful over extension of his tendons and broke an arm away from Face’s grasping hands, lashing out blindly with a rock clutched in his fingers. His arm was lucky and Face took the rock on his temple, right over the bullet graze and for a second he saw stars. Keeping his weight pinning back the legs of the man below him he snatched the fallen rock from the ground and used it himself, smacking the struggling man smartly, two, three times on the head before his writhing stopped and he went limp. Knowing that he wasn’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, Face staggered to his feet, blinking through the blood trickling into his eyes and slowly made his way over to Harker’s weapon.

 

It was right on the lip of a wedge of smoothly sloping rock which edged downwards for maybe twenty metres before turning into a sheer precipice, the pass they’d been following another fifty metres below that. Face dropped to his knees as he reached for the gun, a wave of dizziness making him cautious so close to the edge and just as his fingers touched the barrel, the wind was knocked right out of him as Harker’s body thudded into his.

 

The gun flew sideways and there was a micro-second of almost comedic teetering as Harker suddenly realised what his actions had initiated, but then gravity took control of the situation and both men went over the edge and onto the almost-polished rock face. It was every man for himself, Face, stomach down on the smooth stone, spread his weight as he slid, feet and hands stretching out looking for anything that would stop his downward momentum. Harker was not so lucky as he tumbled over and over again, only picking up pace as he neared the precipice. Then, at the very last moment, with the absolute luck of the damned, the buckle on his pack snagged into a crack in the rock face and he drew up short, his legs already over the edge, his back and shoulders on the rock, his terrified eyes on the sky above him.

 

Sliding slowly behind him, Face saw his rather abrupt halt and knew that if he crashed into the man, then his tenuous hold on safety would disappear and they would both go over the edge. He gritted his teeth against the anticipated pain and dug in with the heels of his hands and the toes of his boots, feeling himself slowing with every passing second until he came to a complete stop, not half a metre away from Harker and the edge.

 

For a second there was nothing but their laboured gasps as they held on precariously but then Face’s voice, taut with the pain and the effort of holding himself still, sounded out. “Harker,” he gasped, stiffening when he slid another few centimetres. “There’s a tree down there, just below you and to your left. Get your arms out of your pack and lower yourself down, you’ll be able to tie a rope off onto it.” Harker didn’t move and Face waited, knowing that what he’d asked would take courage, and that the man needed a few minutes to build up to it.

 

The silence spread out, however, and still Harker hadn’t moved a muscle. Biting back his frustration, his thighs starting to burn from holding himself still, Face tried again. “Harker!” he snapped. “Lower yourself down! That strap isn’t going to hold much longer! You need to get to the tree!”

 

Still Harker didn’t move and when Face risked everything to lift up and look at the man, he saw that he was petrified, skin chalk white and eyes tightly closed. He let out a long sigh and tried a different technique. “Ged,” his voice was soothing, offering calm in the chaos, but his eyes were on the webbing of Harker’s pack where it was slowly coming away from the bag itself, stitches stretching and tearing under the weight of the man it held. “You have to get out of that pack, it won’t hold you much longer.”

 

“There is no tree...” Harker eventually ground out. “You’re lying, Peck. You must think I’m fucking stupid.”

 

For a second Face was speechless, then he was just plain angry. “You think I’d lie over something like this?” he asked, the outrage clear in his voice. “Godamnit man, what is _wrong_ with you? Get out of that pack and grab the tree or we’re both dead here!”

 

Still with his eyes tightly closed, Harker shook his head. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, dropping a couple of centimetres when his pack frayed some more. “You’d love me to drop out of your way just so you could save yourself!”

 

Face was still incredulously pissed off. “Harker, man! Open your fucking eyes and wake the hell up will you? I’m not going anywhere except head first off this ledge unless you get hold of that fucking tree!”

 

This time Harker just smirked and shook his head. “No way, cock-sucker...” he sneered. “If you think – ” and then he stopped, the fear coming back into his eyes as he heard the stitching of his pack slowly tearing away. He twisted backwards, ripping the strap right off his pack and lurched for Face even as Face grabbed for him, his instincts so much stronger than his sense of self preservation. Without the pack to hold them back, they both pitched forward, Harker slipping straight over the edge and pulling Face down with him.

 

Face’s eyes were wide open in horror and so he saw the elusive tree, growing straight out of a gap in the rocks, rush up towards him as he fell. Without thought he grabbed for it, managing to hook one hand around its slender trunk, stopping their downward momentum with a cruel jerk, even with Harker’s weight pulling on his other hand. They hung in silence as Harker’s pack bounced and crashed its way down the rocks, eventually coming to rest on the track way below them.

 

“Climb up me!” Face hissed, trying to lift Harker with his single arm, the skin on his already cut palm tearing against the tree bark but Harker was too busy panicking to pay him any attention. He was thrashing around as he hung at the end of Face’s arm, his eyes on his scattered pack way below, his legs sending tiny stones flying in all direction as they kicked at the rock face. “Keep the fuck still!” Face yelled, his wide eyes flicking up to his hand, watching in horror as it slowly slipped down the flexing tree truck. “You’re going to kill us both if you don’t keep still!”

 

But still Harker wasn’t listening.   His free hand was flailing around in panic snatching for a handhold on the jagged rocks as Face slipped further under his weight. Then suddenly it stopped. Looking down, blinking the sweat and the still dripping blood from his eyes, Face saw that Harker had managed to get one foot onto the narrowest of ledges and was stretching with his other boot, straining every muscle he had to get to that point of precarious safety.

 

“Swing me!” he yelled up at Face, trying to get his own body to sway. “Swing me onto that ledge.” Gritting his teeth against the pain ripping through both of his shoulders, Face shook his head – that would never work. But Harker was not to be put off, kicking backwards and forwards with his legs, tugging Face’s sweaty and blood-wet palm a little further down the tree trunk with every move, he strained for the ledge, muttering under his breath, until with an almighty wrench he broke free from Face’s tired grip, yanking him so far down the bending tree that he was left holding onto the spidery branches and swinging onto the ledge, grinning in triumph as both feet planted firmly on the narrow outcrop.

 

For a second he stood there, looking smugly across at Face who was fighting to get a better grip on the trunk as branches snapped under his hand, but then his smug smile started to fade as his weight slowly, slowly started to pull him backwards. He scrabbled at the rock face with his hands and tried to turn his feet sideways on the ledge but it was too narrow. There was a look of pure terror on his face as he realised he was falling and he reached for Face just as Face took the huge risk of letting go of the tree with one hand in order to grab for him. It was never to be though; Face felt Harker’s finger tips brush against his own as the man fell, then he closed his eyes and grabbed for the tree with both hands once more as he tried not to listen to the scream or the sounds of Harker’s body being dashed to pieces by the jagged rocks as he fell.

 

Within seconds, however, silence returned and Face was left hanging from the straining tree by two throbbing arms wondering how long he had before he joined Harker below.

 

______________________________

 

Five miles away, on the lip of a steep incline, Hannibal, flanked by both Carlton and Jonno, stood immobile, staring at the scene playing out on the cliff edge through his high powered binoculars. He heard Carlton’s quick intake of breath as one of the tiny figures in the distance lost its grip on the ledge and fell, bouncing silently from rock to rock until it disappeared in a cloud of dust raised from the hard packed ground. His hands were shaking and his heart was trying to thump out of his chest as he lifted the glasses again to focus on the remaining figure, still clinging precariously to a tiny, straining sapling. His index finger rolled over and over the fine focus button but no matter how many times he tried he couldn’t get a clear enough image to work out just who it was. Not that that really mattered he acknowledged bleakly, as even from this impotent distance it was perfectly clear that, root by root, the tree was slowly being yanked out of its crevice, and this remaining figure was about to follow the other to a violent death.

 

______________________________   

 

Face dropped his forehead onto the rock in front of him and breathed deeply, trying to persuade his spasming muscles to relax, trying not to think of the noises Harker had made as he fell to his almost certain death. This mission had gone to shit in the most spectacular manner possible here; BA was missing, possibly dead, same for Harker, Markl was up there on death’s door while Face was stuck half way up a rock face, a very painful ‘down’ seeming the only way out for him. Unless the YNG arrived first of course. He bit back a sigh, but if that was the case then he’d probably just jump anyway, they weren’t even supposed to be in the Yemen, he had no dog tags, nothing to mark him as a US soldier, he’d end up dead or in a putrid desert prison for the rest of his days – he’d be better off jumping.

 

But that wasn’t an option, not just yet. For now he would hang on and see how long he could last and hope that someone in the heavens above was watching out for him.

 

_____________________________

 

Hannibal marched back to the tethered horses, aware of everyone’s eyes on him, aware that the story of what had happened on the rock face away in the East had already circled around his troops. No one spoke to him, those who knew him well, knew what that set to his eyes meant and that enquiries would not be taken well. Those who didn’t know him soon noticed the space he was afforded by the others and kept their own respectful distance.

 

And it was all irrelevant anyway – no one needed to ask him a thing to know that they were going to ride for that escarpment faster than these horses had ever been ridden before.

 

_________________________

 

Face was tiring fast. His arms had stopped aching and were now burning with a fire than saw him just wanting to let go. His stubbornness wouldn’t allow that of course, but ironically either would his muscles, clenched so tightly he didn’t think he’d be able to let go even if he ever wanted to.

 

His head swam with images and regrets. Thoughts of Hannibal, never far from the forefront of his mind, were allowed precedence and he took comfort from them, remembering that voice, those hands, all that strength just there for him whenever he needed it. And the regrets were sharp. Regrets that he couldn’t quite be the man that Hannibal thought he could, that he’d made so many wrong decisions on this mission, decisions that had proved costly for him and Markl and BA. And now of course, Harker. Decisions that would rob Hannibal of his partner and Murdock of his team that realisation hurt so much as he wondered if his body would ever be found, if Hannibal would ever have an answer as to where he’d gone, if Murdock would ever be able to cope with the loss of both him and BA.

 

It was such a mess. _He’d made_ such a mess of it all. Well, at least the General would finally understand that Face was right when he’d said he couldn’t do this – that he wasn’t cut out to lead; it was just such a shame that they’d all had to lose so much for that to happen.

 

It was getting harder to hang on and Face knew he had very little time left. His eyes were still closed but his grip remained true, clinging on to a tiny sliver of hope as he heard Hannibal’s voice in his head calling him, calling him, always calling him...

 

“Face! Goddamnit man!”

 

Face’s eyes snapped open as he registered the furious frustration in that voice and he found himself looking straight at a length of climbing rope hanging right in his face. But it wasn’t Hannibal’s voice he’d heard. “BA?” he shouted back, his voice hoarse and strained. “That you?”

 

For a second there was silence and Face held his breath until the disembodied voice came again, quieter this time and the relief clear in every word. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Now get hold of that rope and fasten it to you somehow.”

 

A huge wave of relief washed through Face so hard that it made him muscles weak and he consciously had to hang on tighter. Even craning his head as far back as he could, Face couldn’t see over the lip of the escarpment, but he eyed the rope cautiously, not wanting to pull BA over the edge with his weight. “Thank fuck you’re okay!” he yelled back, trying to unpeel his cramped fingers from the tree trunk. “This rope tied off?”

 

“Yes!” BA snapped back, “Now get hold of the damn thing already will you?”

 

Face took a breath and prepared to let go with his left hand, hoping that his right would be able to hold all of his weight for the few seconds it would take him to get a secure hold of the rope. With every second that passed, he knew that his arms and fingers were only weakening even more, so with one last, final effort he did it, dropping a few inches as his weight swung onto one hand, grabbing the rope with his other and winding it around and around his wrist until finally gripping it in his bloody palm, then with a deep breath he let go and couldn’t stop the relieved huff of laughter as the rope held him.

 

“Okay BA!” he shouted up into the blue sky, “Pull me up!” Again the silence. “BA?”

 

There was a scuffling sound from above and Face was showered in dust and pebbles before a tired sounding voice drifted down to him. “Sorry, Faceman. No can do. Can you get up here yourself?”

 

Face frowned. “Report, Corporal!” he shouted instead, knowing what was coming.

 

“I took some lead, sir,” BA’s voice was getting weaker by the second. “That bastard Harker.”

 

Screwing his eyes closed Face swore viciously under his breath before shouting back up, “How bad?”

 

“It’s just my arm, but it’s bleeding pretty bad.”

 

Face swore again and tried to ignore the fire in his shoulders as he thought. The way the rope was now wrapped around his wrist was going to make climbing up pretty impossible, even if his arms _could_ be persuaded to hold his weight. He needed to unwrap the rope, get a better grip, try and secure it around his waist instead - but he sure as hell couldn’t do that hanging in midair as he was. He slowly opened his eyes and turned, taking in the ledge that had proved to be Harker’s downfall and wondering... It probably _was_ wide enough to stand on as long as your feet went in just the right places. And of course Face had the rope to help as well, even after he’d unwound his wrist he’d still be able to keep himself from falling.

 

“Okay!” he shouted up to BA as he started his body swinging. “Don’t worry about it, big guy, I’ve got this now. Find some shade, sit down, I’ll get up.” There was no answer from BA but Face forced himself to concentrate and block that fact out. Slowly and carefully he swung his legs backwards and forwards, timing them so that they fit in with his natural resonance, clenching his teeth against the agonising fire in his shoulders.

 

But then his boot was brushing the ledge and he stretched out only to slip straight off again. His cry of pain brought no questioning enquiry from BA and so, gritting his teeth, he swung again, forcing himself to wait longer this time, to stretch further and further and further until... He was there, both feet on the ledge, hips jammed up against the rock, rope taut in his hands as he waited for his balance to settle. It seemed to take forever before he stopped trying to tip backwards like Harker had, and he allowed himself a moment to relax, to force his arms down the rope until they were bunched under his chin and wait for the waves of pain the movement had initiated to die back again – then he looked up and thought about climbing and had to fight back the wave of despair that washed over him.

 

There was nothing else for it, he knew that. Markl and BA were both relying on him and he needed to pull himself together and act like a man. Slowly and painfully he fastened the rope around his waist, then, wiping the sweat from his eyes he looked up and braced himself for what he needed to do.

 

“Face?” BA’s voice, sounding out from above, instantly had Face’s heart jumping into overdrive as he could hear the slur in just that one word.

 

“Yeah, buddy,” he answered, readying himself for the climb, “I’m coming, just sit down, yeah? I’m coming.” He leant back on his rope, craning his neck upwards but then having to shield his face as he was showered in dust and gravel once more. He could see nothing above, but the dust kept coming and there was a noise as well, like a slow scraping noise, steady and constant and almost as if-

 

“Fucking hell!” Face spat, instantly knowing what the noise and the dust meant and positioning himself right underneath it, jamming his feet against the rock face, spreading his legs, opening his arms as wide as he could and hoping to hell that BA had tied him off to something secure at the top.

 

For one glorious minute he thought that BA wasn’t going to tip over the edge, that he was going to stay on the smooth flat rock like Face himself almost had, but that thought was short lived, as, after barely pausing for a split second, BA’s limp form came into view as it slid over the precipice.

 

Face would never be able to understand how he held on that day when BA’s weight hit him. How his throbbing arms latched tightly onto his friend keeping him from the same fate as Harker, how his feet stayed jammed to the rock face, how the rope around his waist held secure, even with the weight of them both. And then, even more incredible was the way that he managed to manoeuvre them until they were sitting on the narrow ledge, backs against the rock, rope twisted around their chests, BA drenched in blood down his right side and out cold, Face breathing hard and shaking with the exertion of it all.

 

He let his eyes slide closed as he tried to dredge up the strength and the nerve to lean around and check on the damage to BA’s arm. If he’d thought the situation was bad enough before, now it was just completely screwed. There was no way he was getting up off this ledge on his own, his muscles were cramping so badly now that it was all he could do to stay sitting upright with his arm over BA’s shoulders, he knew that he just didn’t have the strength to haul himself, never mind he and BA, up over that lip and back onto the smooth, slippery stone. And then, to cap it all off was the fact that in all the to-ing and fro-ing, the rope itself was starting to fray where it went up and over the lip. Face looked up at it now, maybe eight feet above them, its fluffy frayed edges looking so innocent against the blue of the sky and with a knot of despair in his guts, let his eyes close once more, saying goodbye to Hannibal as he did so.   

 

___________________________

 

Face jerked awake as he felt the rope snag tight around his chest and realised how close he’d been to pitching off the ledge and into the jagged abyss below.  He quickly glanced at BA, seeing him still and covered in a light sheen of sweat at his side before he finally realised what had actually awoken him. The sound was a familiar one in his life, so familiar that he hadn’t even noticed it at first, but now, as it increased in volume with every second, his heart could only sink as he registered deep thrumming that meant a chopper was headed their way.

 

It was the YNG, he knew it; there was no way that the US would dare venture into Yemeni airspace in broad daylight like this and he realised that he had mere seconds to make a decision. Hide, let them pass by and wait until he and BA died trapped as they were on the ledge, or try and get their attention and possibly live to see another dawn. Face was torn, he knew exactly what he would do if it were just his life he needed to consider, but it wasn’t. He glanced over at BA again, at the rich red blood soaking his clothes, at the pale tint to his lips and the quick, shallow breaths he was sucking into his chest and sighed – there was no real choice.

 

Then it was there, skimming the tops of the cliffs as it hugged the ravine, another Apache, this was nowhere near as pristine as the one he’d left buried in the sand had been, but it was an Apache none the less, with the Yemeni national flag in pride of place on the side. Slowly and painfully, Face hauled himself to his feet, pulling as hard on the frayed rope as he dared and waving his other hand in the direction of the chopper. 

 

It was obvious the exact moment that the pilot saw him, and the nose of the Apache swung their way, doing a quick fly-by, which had Face leaning over BA, trying to protect him from the dust and the grit that was thrown at them. Then it banked around and came back, climbing high enough so that the down draft wasn’t strong enough to blow them right off the ledge. As Face stood, one hand on their lifeline, one hand holding onto BA, a harness and a rope suddenly appeared from the Apache and, unwinding as it fell, it came to rest brushing the branches of the ruined tree. Face stared at it, torn by the salvation and damnation that he knew it offered. The pilot inched their way, trailing the rope closer and closer until, with a sigh of resignation, he grabbed at it.

 

It took almost five minutes of shuffling on the narrow ledge before Face had both he and the unconscious BA securely strapped in and then he took a deep breath and stepped off, letting the rope take their weight and trying to stop them from swinging back into the sharp and uneven rock face. The pilot must have seen them go as the Apache suddenly lifted, and Face felt a wry grin split his expression as he thanked his only bit of luck on this whole op that BA was out cold for this, he didn’t fancy sharing a rope with two hundred and twenty pounds of panic.

 

They flew up and over the lip of the cliff and then they were setting down again , the pilot lowering carefully, carefully until Face’s feet hit the dirt about fifty metres from where Markl still lay, slumped in the dirt, the tethered horses shifting in fright at the close proximity of the chopper. Feeling a huge surge of guilt for the fact that he’d barely given the man a second’s thought since he and Harker had slipped over the edge, Face quickly set about unfastening the harness and setting BA on the ground in the lee of one of the larger boulders.

 

As soon as they were down, the chopper lifted off again and wheeled away in the sky. Face watched it and had a moment of hope as he wondered if it were leaving, before he saw it starting to dip once more, landing on what was obviously the most suitable patch of ground a quarter of a mile away to the east. For a second, Face considered making a break for it, leaving BA and Markl with the YNG and trying to get back to Hannibal himself, reporting what had happened and making a rescue attempt possible. But deep in his heart he knew that that would never happen, the General would never sanction a return to the Yemen, and knew that the CIA would also quickly give Markl up as dead if he fell back into Yemeni hands. No – he admitted glumly to himself as he ran to check on the slumped scientist, there was nothing to be gained from that, he needed to stay with BA and hope that they somehow got a chance to escape again at a later point.

 

All thoughts of escape however, were chased straight from his mind as he came close enough to see Markl clearly. At first he thought that the man was dead; flies crawled over the sunburnt blisters on his face, he was laid awkwardly, twisted on his side, and from the angle he was approaching, Face couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. As he came closer, however, the tight knot of dread loosened as Face heard a laboured, rattling breath and saw the tiny twitches in his limbs obviously caused by the fever that consumed him. There wasn’t much time for first aid, Face simply dragged him into his own patch of shade and turned him into the recovery position before grabbing his pack from where it had lain all day long and sprinting back to BA’s side.

 

The big man hadn’t moved, and Face found his own heart speeding up as he got a good look at the bullet wound in his arm for the first time. It had gone in and out, and right through the muscle it seemed, cutting a swathe on the underside of BA’s arm that had obviously been pouring in blood. The rate had slowed now, the rough tourniquet that BA had managed to put on himself had helped, but Face now yanked out a field medical pack from his kit and started wiping it down, wincing when he thought of all the infection that might have already got into the wound.

 

He was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t hear the footsteps until they were almost upon him, and then he turned, reaching to grab for a gun that wasn’t there as he threw himself in front of BA and squinted up at their visitor through the now setting sun. He stared at the silhouette in silence for a second before his brain finally worked out what he was seeing and he scrambled to his feet, making a desperate grab for their rescuer just as a laconic voice drawled, “Well hell, Face – I can’t believe you and Bosco went hiking in the mountains without me!”

 

______________________________

 

Hannibal lowered the radio and passed a hand over his face, forcing himself to relax, and stamp the fear back down out of his way.

 

“Boss?” Jonno’s cautious voice interrupted him and he looked over, smiling flatly as he headed for his horse.

 

“He found them,” he reported sharply. “BA and Markl are in a pretty bad way, so he’s loaded them both into the Apache and is shipping them out right now.” Snatching Thunder’s reins off Carlton, he stuffed his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle.

 

“Apaches only seat two,” Carlton told him, turning back to his own horse and Sharkie laughed.

 

“Not when Murdock flies ‘em!”

 

“What about Face and Harker?” Jonno asked, pushing his own horse up next to Hannibal’s, knowing from the set of the commander’s face that there was much, _much_ more to this than Hannibal was letting on.

 

“Harker’s dead,” Hannibal’s voice was emotionless as he filled Jonno in. “He was the one we saw fall. Face is alright, Murdock’s left him up on the ridge for us to collect.”

 

Jonno nodded and watched as Hannibal lifted his leg to adjust his girth. “Why don’t you ride on ahead, boss? We can call in the extraction, go down into the gully to retrieve Harker and make sure our tail’s clear. Meet you and Face at the RV point at,” he glanced at his watch, “2300 hours?”

 

A wave of relief washed over Hannibal’s face before it was quickly hidden behind the usual expressionless ‘mission face’ as Face called it. Jonno was one of the very few people in the world who knew the true relationship between Hannibal and Face and he knew how desperate Hannibal would be to get to his boy, check him out away from prying eyes. “Alright Sergeant,” he replied, “You take command and we’ll rendezvous at 2300.”

 

With nothing more than a nod, he kicked Thunder into an instant canter and they were off, following the coordinates that Murdock had given him.

__________________________

 

Face was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open once more. Now that he knew that BA and Markl were on their way to medical attention and Hannibal’s team were coming for him, he found that the adrenalin abandoned him and left him feeling every ache and pain that were the evidence of the last few days of hell they’d all had. The cut in his palm was inflamed and obviously infected, torn wide open by the climbing and clinging he’d had to do, his right eye was almost closed due to the swelling over his cheek and around the bullet track across the temple, dried blood caked his hair and his face where his head had been cut by Harker’s rock, his shoulders and arms screamed in protest every time they were moved. He was hungry and thirsty but couldn’t even force himself to move and get something out of his pack; the water that Murdock had left him with had all gone and the space blanket he’d been huddled under had blown away in a quick burst of desert wind. He’d been so keen to see Murdock get BA and Markl off to the med unit that he’d told the Captain he was fine, just a few scrapes, but now he realised he was shaking and was freezing cold despite the late afternoon heat.

 

It was becoming increasingly tricky to think straight by the time that Face realised he was in danger of going into shock, but the pain that surged through him as he finally forced himself to reach for his pack and the warmth and sustenance that it offered, was the last his abused body could take and he slumped sideways into unconsciousness, his gun slipping free from his hand.

 

___________________________

 

Hannibal rode hard, the wind in his hair, the rhythmic pounding of Thunder’s hooves on the hard baked ground a soothing counterpoint to his own turbulent emotions. He felt like he was flying over the metres, but it still wasn’t fast enough for him and he urged the horse to double his efforts. He knew Face was safe, had spoken to Murdock and received those assurances, but there was still something primeval in him that wouldn’t settle until he’d seen it for his own eyes, seen and touched every inch of that body he so knew and loved so well, mapped every injury and kissed away every pain. This was the part of their life that he hated, knowing that every time they went to work that Face could be hurt, could be killed, could be torn away from him in so many ways that were too horrific to think about. But he also knew that this life was what made them who they were; without it, they might not even exist, and he hated that almost as much.

 

He was almost there now, the red light on the GPS unit blinking happily from where it was gripped in his palm and he looked around, standing up in the stirrups as he reined Thunder back in a little, his eyes peering sharply through the early evening gloom. He wanted to shout out, but wasn’t sure how far behind them the YNG had been, now forced on foot and swinging around to his left, Hannibal smiled as he saw the reason why. In the lee of a cluster of huge boulders, Hannibal could see a veritable _herd_ of horses, all looking their way, their ears pointing at Thunder with interest and Hannibal steered that way, his heart pounding in anticipation.

 

But Face wasn’t there. There was no human within sight of the horses at all and grunting in frustration, Hannibal yanked on the reins, turning back the way he’d come, knowing he’d have to approach more slowly and wishing that Murdock had been able to leave Face a radio. He rounded the largest of the boulders again, craning his neck and squinting through the fast approaching darkness when a voice, quiet and laced with pain but undeniably _familiar_ reached his ears.

 

“Fuck. Is this like my very own _Brokeback Mountain_ or something?”

 

And there he was, pale and bloodstained, cold and shaking, but there all the same and _smiling_ , and Hannibal found that he couldn’t _not_ smile back as he slithered to the ground and made his way over. “If you’re lucky,” he countered. “But I don’t know how cowboys ever got up to anything after sitting like that all day.” 

 

Face laughed at that, a tired, weak sounding chuckle that had Hannibal frowning, even more so when the laughter turned into harsh, dry coughing.

 

“Hey, hey,” Hannibal dropped to his knees and carefully pulled Face upright, wincing as he saw the state he was in, the obvious bullet track on his temple, so, _so_ close to being something else entirely. “Drink this,” he said instead of mentioning any of that, just content for now to feel that familiar weight against his chest.

 

They sat in silence, Hannibal helping Face take small sips from the canteen of water as he methodically ran his eyes over every bit of the body stretched out next to him. “Alright now?” he asked gently as he felt Face pull away from the bottle.

 

“Yeah,” came the tired reply and then, “Fuck boss, I’m so sorry I screwed this all up.” Hannibal sighed and just pulled him tightly in again, dismayed that they were headed down this path once more. It needed sorting, he knew that, all of this self doubt and depreciation needed bleeding out of the boy’s being once and for all, but this was not that place to do it. He also knew that they had to move, had to make a start now or they wouldn’t get to the RV on time.

 

“We’ll talk about it later, kid,” was all he said, missing the way that Face’s whole body sagged at his words. “But for now we have to get out of here. You okay to stand?”

 

Face nodded bleakly but let Hannibal pull him up anyway, let him lead him to a horse and almost lift him on to it, his own muscles too weak and painful to be of much help. Then, just as they were turning away, the other horses left for the approaching YNG to reclaim, he suddenly thought of something. “Harker,” he breathed into the night, not finding the words, just looking at where he knew the ridge was. He heard Hannibal’s sigh though and it was like cold water pouring over him.

 

“Jonno’s sorting it,” he said as he turned away, and with a heart as heavy as his limbs, Face followed.

 

_______________________

 

Only just holding on to his temper and feeing like a caged animal, Hannibal paced the small Reception area of the Base custody suite, trying to decide how early he could get away with waking Russell up to come on down and help sort out all this crap. He should have called him last night, straight after they’d landed back at base, tired and filthy and all subdued after having made the flight back. It was odd to be travelling without BA who was currently recovering from an operation in the military hospital of Riyadh, but it was the presence of Harker’s broken corpse carefully stowed in the back, which lay over them all like a thick, sombre blanket. Hannibal had diligently moved around his men during the long flight, taking the time to talk to them all, to check how Carlton was coping after his first real op and keeping an eye on Face who spent the whole flight curled up in the corner doing his best to look like he was asleep.

 

Hannibal knew he was faking though, had had enough experience over the years they’d been together to see through a basic con like that, but knew that the kid had had a rough time and so left him to it, left him to his silence and his corner and hoped that it was the rest of the unit he was hiding from and not Hannibal himself.

 

But now he wished that he had pushed it – that he’d sat down next to him at some point and just asked him. He could see how tired and worn down he was, and even though he’d refused to let anyone come near him with a med kit, Hannibal could see the pain he was in every time he moved or even breathed. He’d have been easy to wear down like that, Hannibal knew. A discrete touch in the right place, a loving word whispered in his ear... he’d have been eating from Hannibal’s palm in no time at all, telling him what was behind the silence and his hunched demeanour. Now – well, now that time had gone, and so had Face’s chance for rest and medical treatment. The MPs had been waiting for them the second they’d walked off the transport, and Face had just gone with them, head bowed, meek as a lamb and Hannibal had been the one left railing and yelling and demanding until Murdock had managed to pull him away.

 

He wasn’t to be dissuaded however, and followed the MPs to the custody suite, demanding that Face be allowed to rest, to eat, to go to medical, to see an attorney, to be released into his care... any number of demands that had fallen on deaf ears, and Hannibal was getting more wound up by the second.

 

It was just starting to get light, the first wispy edges of dawn creeping into the sky when the security-coded door opened once more and Major Grant Birkbeck, walked out. “Grant,” Hannibal said rising to his feet, “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on here.”

 

“You should go home, Hannibal,” Birkbeck replied instead. “Get some sleep, you look like shit.”

 

But Hannibal just rolled his eyes. “How can I when Face is in there? He’s one of my men, he was on a mission with me, and that mission isn’t over until we’re all back safe.”

 

Birkbeck nodded, he’d expected as much. It wasn’t the first time he’d come across Hannibal in this room, and it wasn’t the first time that the Colonel was there due to Lt. Peck. “Five minutes,” was all he’d said, turning to open the door to the back, “I’ll give you five minutes and that’s all.”

 

They slipped through the quiet corridors walking past interview rooms, some in use, most not, and Hannibal wondered if that’s where Face was right now, behind one of those locked doors, or if he was in a cell somewhere, wondering where Hannibal was, wondering what the hell was going on. “After you,” Birkbeck said, letting Hannibal into a tiny, cramped office. They sat down, wary eyes watching each other before Birkbeck let out a long sigh and started. “There’s not much I can tell you. Peck is being questioned over the disappearance of Dr. Christian Markl from the town of,” he scanned his notes, “ _Badikh Jidar_ , Yemen.” He shrugged and stopped, but Hannibal sensed there was more.

 

“Why?” he asked. “Markl was found safe and well in Face’s care, mission was a success. Why do _you_ need to get involved in all the whys and wherefores?”

 

Birkbeck squirmed in his seat and looked up at Hannibal through the lenses of his glasses. “Because we’ve had an allegation made against him, Hannibal. That Peck took Markl in order to hand him back to the Yemenis for a price...”

 

“Bullshit!” Hannibal exploded, slamming his fist down on the desk. “That’s total bullshit, Face was _never_ going to do anything with Markl other than get him out of the country and to safety.”

 

There was a pause as Birkbeck thought through his words very carefully. “So why did he run then, Hannibal? Why did he ditch all the units around the town and head for the hills without co-ordinating with _anyone_?” There was a thick silence. “Did _you_ know what he was doing?” he asked and the thinning of Hannibal’s lips was all he got as his answer.

 

The silence grew around them, broken by the first bird song of the day outside the narrow window. Hannibal shifted slightly, holding Birkbeck’s eyes with his own. “So that’s it then?” he asked. “That’s all you got on Face? Once you’re happy that he doesn’t have some secret Yemeni contacts you can let him go?”

 

Again Birkbeck squirmed in his seat. “Not until we’ve talked to him about Harker’s death,” he replied quietly.

 

For a second the words hung around them, thick and ominous until Hannibal leaned forward, his eyes flashing with menace. “Harker fell from a ledge,” he said steadily. “They were both hanging on to the cliff face, Harker was on the ledge and fell backwards, Face tried to save him. It was an accident.”

 

Birkbeck frowned. “You were there?”

 

“About five miles away, but I saw everything through the binoculars.”

 

With a shake of his head, Birkbeck held Hannibal’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll get someone to take a statement off you, but you gotta know, he’s in a whole lot of trouble this time, I’m not sure he’s going to be able to wriggle out of it. Serious allegations have been made against him by a man who’s now dead after falling from a cliff when there was no one but Peck around. How’d they get there anyway?”

 

Hannibal frowned, he’d not been there to see that part. “I don’t know.”

 

“General Harker’s not going to let this one lie,” Birkbeck’s eyes were bleak. “He says that Peck had some kind of vendetta against his boy, that he humiliated him in front of a whole room of people at the pre-op briefing.”

 

Impotent fear clenched at Hannibal’s guts at those words. He’d seen _retired_ General Harker coming into the custody suite earlier that morning, his eyes narrowed in Hannibal’s direction but he hadn’t quite realised the threat that that visit had held.

 

“Face had no issue with Harker, Harker had an issue with _Face_ and the fact that he was given a unit of his own for the last op. And yes Face made him look like an ass at that briefing, but only ‘cause he was acting like one. Ask anyone who was there.”

 

Shrugging again, Birkbeck went to stand. “Look, Hannibal, all of that will come out in the wash I’m sure. We need to talk to a hell of a lot of people here before we can even start to find out what’s happened.”

 

“And in the meantime?” Hannibal countered, still stubbornly sitting in his chair. “Face has had one hell of a rough op. He needs rest and medical attention-” 

 

“He’s refused medical attention.”

 

Hannibal rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “He still needs sleep, Grant, you know what it’s like when you get back.”

 

Birkbeck moved to open the door now and Hannibal slowly rose to his feet. “Take your own advice, Hannibal. Go home, get some rest and come back here tomorrow afternoon. Maybe we’ll have something for you by then.”

 

“He needs representation,” Hannibal tried even as he walked towards the corridor, but Birkbeck shook his head again.

 

“He’s refused that as well,” he answered and Hannibal’s heart dropped. “Go home. Rest. Come back. I’ll talk to you again then, okay?”

 

Hannibal shook his head and moved out into the corridor. He would go, even though the conversation had done nothing to soothe his troubled thoughts about Face. But he sure as hell was not going to go home. He’d stay in the Reception area he decided, wait them out, make sure they knew just how serious he was about getting this mess sorted out to his satisfaction. It must be approaching six a.m. now, he’d phone Russ, get him down here, see what he could do about getting it fixed or at least getting Face out for now.

 

He headed back the way he’d come in, Birkbeck silently following him, until they got to the first security coded door. The Major stepped in front of him to press the key pad and as he did, Hannibal got a glimpse of three men walking along the corridor on the other side of the glass. Two of the men, Hannibal didn’t know, but the third he did and his eyes narrowed as he wondered just what a very anxious looking Jackson Carlton was doing there.

 

___________________

 

The church clock down the road sounded out loudly at the exact second that the security door in the corner of the Reception swung open and Face walked out, blinking in the midday sunshine as his brief, Major Jock McInnerny steered him towards his CO. 

 

“He’s all yours Hannibal,” he explained sharply, while Face scowled at the floor. “You understand the conditions of his release?”

 

“Perfectly,” Hannibal replied, quietly watching as Face continued to refuse to meet his eye. “Thanks for this, Jock, I owe you one.”

 

“You do,” McInnerny said dryly, flicking his eyes at the still unresponsive Face as he reached to shake Hannibal’s hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow." He turned to Face who was continuing to ignore him. "Peck,” he said sharply, then shook his head at the lack of response as he turned and left.

 

Hannibal sighed as he followed, one hand on the back of Face’s bicep to guide him out. “That was rude, Face,” he muttered stepping out into the sunshine. “I hauled the guy out of bed at crazy o’clock on a Sunday morning to get down here and get you out. The least you could do was thank him.”

 

“I never asked you to,” Face muttered mutinously and Hannibal shook his head, determined he wasn’t getting into whatever the hell this was until they were safely cocooned in the walls of their house. 

 

The second that Hannibal popped the door on his car, Face was inside, hunching up and curling away from him, his arms folded, his forehead on the glass and Hannibal let him get on with whatever he was doing, driving home in complete silence. It wasn’t until they were back in the house, when the door was shut and Face was taking himself off up the stairs that Hannibal moved. “Alright kid,” he was trying to keep the building anger out of his voice, but knew he wasn’t quite managing it. “What the hell’s going on here?”

 

“Nothing,” Face returned, sounding every inch the petulant teenager. “I’m tired Hannibal, just leave me be.” He wasn’t expecting the hand that shot out and grabbed his bicep, yanking him back from the bottom step and spinning him around, but there was no mistaking the look that was in Hannibal’s eyes.

 

“No Lieutenant,” he ground out, “I will not ‘leave you be’, I want some answers out of you and I want them now!” A door at the top of the stairs opened and Murdock appeared, hair mussed and clothes rumpled and Hannibal felt bad at waking him, Face, however, ignored him.

 

“Answers?” he spat. “Yeah, of course you do. Need to get your story straight, right? Can’t you just talk to Birkbeck? Miss me outta the loop altogether? Maybe you and the General and him could all just meet up, why not ask McInnerny and General Harker too and then you could have a right old party without me!”

 

Recoiling slightly with force of Face’s unexpected anger, Hannibal shot a confused glance upwards at an equally confused Murdock. “Party?” he asked. “Face, I’m not sure what you think-”

 

“Not sure what I think?!” Face exploded. “Or maybe you just don’t give a fuck _what_ I think! Or maybe you don’t like it when I _do_ think, when I make mistakes that _you_ wouldn’t, when I don’t follow that fucking sacred Hannibal Smith bible!”

 

Hannibal’s confusion was only growing, but so was his anger and even though his eyes were taking in Face’s washed out complexion, the dried blood and grime, bruising and swelling all over his face, his red rimmed eyes, the way he was gripping the banister for support, even though his eyes were taking that all in, his brain certainly wasn’t, it was only hearing his words and heating up in response. “Now, you listen here, kid,” he started.

 

“No!” Face was yelling now. “You listen to me! You don’t like the choices I made on that op? Tough fucking _shit_! The thing is though, I made them didn’t I? ‘Cause you weren’t there to do it!” A filthy finger stabbed into Hannibal’s chest. “You weren’t there and I _told_ you I couldn’t do it! I _told_ you I didn’t want my own unit but you fucking well insisted! You gave me Markl to go after, you made me take BA, you set me up to fucking _fail_ Hannibal and I’m not gonna just sit around on my ass and let you chew me out for it afterwards!”

 

For a moment Hannibal was speechless. “Face-” he started again, but Face cut him off, his rant continuing as Murdock drifted down the stairs towards them, his brow creased in concern at Face’s distress.

 

“So what now then Hannibal? Bet you can’t wait to get rid of me, huh? Before any of this mud starts sticking to you. You chucking me out now? Or after the court martial? You get McInnerny to haul me outta there just so you could get me to pack up before you threw me out?”

 

“Face, listen to me-”

 

But Face wasn’t listening to anyone. “You're just like all the others, just like every other goddamned fucker that’s ever lied to me! Ever strung me along! Ever fucking thrown me away!”

 

He hadn't finished, his eyes were full of hot, angry tears and his chest was heaving but he never got the chance to continue, not when Hannibal’s big palm landed square on his sternum, slamming him backwards into the wall. “Don’t you _ever_ say that to me!” he yelled, his ice-blue eyes flashing. “Don’t you _ever_ push all your insecurities onto me! Don’t tar me with that brush, Face, don’t - just fucking don’t!” They stared at each other, Face’s eyes wide as Hannibal held him up against the wall. “When have I done that to you?” he shouted again, shoving harder as Face tried to buck up against his hand. “When have I ever let you down, thrown you away? When have I lied to you? When have I ever done anything other than fucking _love_ you...?” he choked over those last words, eyes dropping to the floor as they were suddenly filled with tears, hand falling away from Face’s chest.

 

For a moment no one moved. Murdock was poised on the stairs, one foot hovering almost comically in mid-air, Face was still flat against the wall, staring at Hannibal in shock as Hannibal, head in his hands, took a step back and breathed deeply, trying to get himself back under control.

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ boss,” Face eventually whispered into the awkward stillness. “I’m sorry," he reached out a tentative hand, "John... don't... please. I’m so fucking sorry. I know, I know you have,” and he leaned forward, his arms winding around Hannibal’s shoulders, pulling him in, feeling that strength and solidity that always grounded him, lifting an arm to let Murdock into the hug as well, feeling arms winding up around him holding him even closer and closing his eyes, whispering into Hannibal’s hair over and over how sorry he was.

 

_____________________     

 

Hannibal stood and stared at the wispy tendrils of steam as they drifted off his coffee but his mind was far away and he startled as Murdock’s voice sounded from his side.

 

“He in bed now?”

 

He took a deep breath, hauling himself back together and back to the present before turning and forcing a flat smile out at his Captain. “No. Not yet, he’s taking a shower first.” Murdock nodded and Hannibal glanced him over. “You spoke to BA?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” and a wave of relief washed over Murdock’s face, instantly mirrored by Hannibal. “He’s feeling a lot better already. Sore and stiff and he’s gonna need physio, but they reckon it’ll all heal up just fine.”

 

Hannibal smiled, a true one this time, at the first bit of good news he’d had all day.

 

“They gonna make all this crap stick, boss?” Murdock asked as Hannibal picked up his coffee and took a tentative sip. “Is Face gonna be Court Martialled?”

 

“Not if I can help it,” Hannibal said firmly, picking up Face’s mug and plate and walking back to the hallway. “Not if any of us can help it.”

 

He liked to think that Murdock believed him but he wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination letting him think what he needed to.

 

_____________

 

Face was stiffly tugging his sleeping shorts on up over his legs as Hannibal came back into the bedroom they shared, placing the coffee and sandwich on the bed stand as his eyes raked over the marks this latest mission had left on his boy’s body. There was nothing too serious, but plenty of scrapes and cuts and bruising and Hannibal could tell from the wince when Face hung his towel on the hook on the door that his arms and shoulders must still be hurting like a bitch.

 

“Let me see,” he said, the bite in his voice every bit the commanding officer and he was relieved when Face just swallowed down his planned objection and sat meekly on the end of the bed, allowing Hannibal to run eyes and hands over him, checking out each injury for himself.

 

He worked in silence, his eyes darkening at the imprint of a boot on Face’s shoulder. His head was a mess, two jagged cuts hidden in his hair that had obviously bled like only head wounds can and Hannibal carefully cleaned them up, satisfying himself that stitches wouldn’t be necessary. Then he moved to the one thing he’d been avoiding, the long thin bullet track that snaked across his temple, disappearing into his hair line and the cut he’d just treated. For a second his fingers stuttered to a halt and he stopped, staring and thinking and wondering what his life would be like now if that bullet had hit just five millimetres further over... A warm hand on his thigh brought him out of his reverie, and thanking to God for their lucky escape, he dabbed the shallow trail with a wipe and covered it with a line of Neosporin, before tilting Face’s head back to look at his cheek.

 

This was the injury that had concerned Hannibal the most, this was the one that he’d wanted checking out professionally but Face, stubborn to the core, had refused. He took his time now, ignoring the little hisses of pain as he carefully poked around the impact point, frowning as he saw the imprint of stitching from Harker’s boot on his boy’s skin, sealing the deep split with steri-strips and convincing himself that underneath all the swelling, the cheek bone was still intact.

 

Finally, after prising open a swollen and blackening eyelid to inspect what lay behind and steri-stripping his torn palm he was satisfied and pulled back the duvet, gesturing for Face to get in as he retrieved the plate and the coffee. “Eat and drink,” he commanded, “I’m going for a shower, I expect it all gone when I get out.”

 

Face, looking pale and washed out, nodded and slid into the sheets as Hannibal went into the en-suite.

 

_______________

 

His shower was longer than he’d wanted, he hadn’t quite realised how filthy he was, or how many scrapes littered his own skin. He wrinkled his nose at his filthy clothes as he stepped over them with his towel wrapped around his waist, he must have stunk, no wonder they were so keen to get him out of the Custody Suite.

 

He’d also taken the time to try and get his emotions under control. Being annoyed at the way Face had handled this, being hurt that the kid had locked him out at every twist and turn, ever since he and BA had rescued Markl in _Badikh Jidar_ , was not going to get them anywhere. He knew Face well, knew exactly how he reacted to anger and resentment and didn’t want to travel down that path; not when they’d both come so very, very close to losing everything.

 

The anger was too sharp and too painful to push away, so he waited until it was buried under a pile of relief and gratitude so deep it hopefully wouldn’t surface and then quietly opened the door to the bedroom they shared.

 

He’d half expected to find Face asleep with an untouched coffee and sandwich at his side, but was greeted by silent blue eyes, one peering out from under a swollen lid, tracking him across the room over the top of the mug, a crumb covered plate on the stand and he was ridiculously relieved, not only that Face had eaten, but that it was hopeful proof that he was planning on being a little more cooperative from now on in. Dropping his towel he slid under the duvet, lifting away Face’s mug and settling them both down, arms around each other, duvet up to their necks.    

 

He contented himself with feeling the warm weight of his reason for living as they clung to each other in silence. Every scratch of Face’s stubble on his chest, every breath of warm air that drifted across his skin, every thump of healthy heartbeat he could feel against his own sternum all helped confirm to him that Face was here, they were back together for now and that was enough to start the tension draining out of him. 

 

Time passed slowly and peacefully. Their breathing evened out and Murdock’s noises settled down as the low hum of the TV started up downstairs. Hannibal was enjoying the quiet and the feeling of finally having Face back with him whilst wondering where the hell they should start trying to unpick all this, when Face beat him to it.

 

“You can ask you know,” he said quietly, his breath ghosting over Hannibal’s chest. “Why I took off with Markl. I won’t bite.”

 

Hannibal laughed and kissed the crown of his newly washed hair. “I don’t need to ask,” he said, suddenly realising the absolute truth of the words. “I trust you baby, you thought that’s what you needed to do, then that’s enough for me.”

 

The silence returned before Face pushed himself up onto one arm, his bruised and battered face expressionless as he weighed Hannibal up. “You must have heard what Harker was saying about me though,” he finally offered and Hannibal nodded.

 

“I did. But I also know it was total and utter crap – and so does everyone else who knows you.”

 

“You didn’t suspect me?”

 

Hannibal rolled his eyes and bit back the angry retort he wanted to make. “I wondered what you had planned,” he admitted instead, “but I certainly didn’t suspect you.” He cupped the side of Face’s cheek with his hand, “Would you have suspected me?”

 

That seemed to get through a little and they looked at each other for a while before Face lay back down, shuffling about until he was comfortable with his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. An ad break came on downstairs and just as Hannibal was wondering if they were through with this post mortem for the time being, Face spoke again.

 

“I didn’t know what to do without you, boss,” he admitted, sounding like he was eighteen again and Hannibal’s arm tightened reflexively. “I had no idea if what I was doing was the right thing or would just get everyone killed. I told you I couldn’t do it, I’m not made to be a fucking leader. I’ll never be like you.”

 

Hannibal felt the tension in his jaw return at those words and he took a minute, forcing himself to calm down and handle this right instead of just exploding and trying to shake some sense into the man next to him.

 

“Face,” he said eventually, remembering to breathe through his words. “I love you. I love everything about you, every damn thing, but I do know you’re not perfect.” He felt the body next to him still and he pushed on. “I know you love me as well, but you have to start realising that I’m not perfect either.”

 

“You’re not. You grind your teeth in your sleep,” Face muttered.

 

“And I make mistakes in the field,” Hannibal countered. “I doubt myself and my decisions. I’ve done the wrong thing, made the wrong choice, far, far too many times to count. You _know_ I have.” Face was silent and so Hannibal carried on. “It happens, it’s part of the job and you just have to roll with it, make your plan fluid and adapt as you go along, keep calm and pretend it was always intended to go like that.” He shrugged. “That’s what I do and it sounds to me like it’s exactly what you did too. The only difference between us, kid, is the experience that gives you the confidence.”

 

Silence fell again and Murdock’s mobile rang out below. The pilot’s cry of, “Bosco!” had Hannibal smiling as Face shifted restlessly against him in the darkening bedroom.

 

“Well, I’m not going to get any of that experience now though am I?” he questioned, a bitter tinge to his voice that Hannibal didn’t at all care for. “Not from prison anyway.”

 

Again, Hannibal’s arm tightened, “You’re not going to prison, Face,” he soothed. “These allegations are purely circumstantial, nothing to them at all. They won’t charge you with anything.”

 

“You can be sure?” whilst the bitterness was unpleasant, the fear was even worse.

 

“Positive,” he replied, turning on his hip and shuffling down until they were face to face on the bed. “You need to stop trying to pretend like you don’t care about any of this and start cooperating with Jock - all that silence and sulking, it just looks like you've something to hide.” Face flushed slightly and looked down at Hannibal’s chest. “You also need to stop thinking that you’ve done something wrong and that this is some kind of bizarre payback. And then we need to meet up with Russ and Jock and look at the situation objectively, and then you’ll be in the clear.”

 

Face’s eyes flicked up. “Really?” he whispered.

 

Hannibal leant down and kissed him, just a fleeting touch. “Really,” he answered.

 

Face looked up at him and Hannibal could see that there was fear in his eyes but a strong desire to believe. "Boss... I... I'm sorry..."

 

"Shh," Hannibal laid a finger on his lips and looked down at the man in his arms, the worry in his eyes, the frown on his forehead. “Come here," he growled pulling Face closer to him. "I think you need something else to think about..."

 

It was at times like this that Hannibal wondered if he had a real and genuine physical addiction to this man. Being apart from Face as they had been, being terrified for his safety and well-being as he had, he always felt that fear and longing as an actual, genuine ache. Their hurried session in the storage cupboard seemed so long ago now, so, so far away from them both, and the desperate ache had started straight after, the very second he’d walked out, the smell of their combined release so strong in his nose. It wouldn’t go, the horrible, jittery feeling deep within him, not until he’d claimed Face all over again, felt the security of having him under him or above him, that soft, tight heat grabbing at him, tugging him in and trying to hold him right where he always wanted to be. And the need for _that_ was starting to take on epic proportions, make him think about nothing else but how that would feel, to have Face open up to him, make those little sounds of lust and desperation, feel that warmth and the openness and the trust.

 

They kissed, slow and deep and with every second Hannibal felt his need climb even higher. He edged forward and tilted Face up onto one hip, pulling them chest to chest so that he could thrust his rapidly growing erection into Face's groin, a question and a demand all in one. Face hissed and tried to pull back slightly, but Hannibal went with him, hands in his hair keeping him still, his hard-on rubbing delightfully against sleeping shorts with every thrust.

 

Then Face made another noise, one that struck straight through Hannibal’s increasingly lust addled brain and he immediately pulled back – it had been an unmistakable moan of pain. They looked at each other, Hannibal’s brow creased in concern and a question and Face flushed, before closing his eyes and leaning into Hannibal once more, looking to continue their kiss; but this time Hannibal was having none of it. With one large palm on Face’s chest he leaned back and with the other he lifted the duvet, spotting the evidence – or lack thereof – of Face’s own level of arousal.

 

He sighed and let the duvet fall back, pulling Face into his chest and running his hands through the still damp caramel hair. "What's up, baby?"

 

It might, to any casual observer, have seemed an odd question, after all Face was black and blue, littered in scrapes and cuts and looked ready to sleep for a week, but of course Hannibal knew him better than that, knew that none of those things would usually bother him, that he was always up for intimacy with Hannibal, always.

 

Face shook his head but didn't look up.

 

"Does it hurt that bad?" it was the only thing that Hannibal could think of as an explanation and that worried him, for Face to be in so much pain... There was a pause, and he knew that Face was deciding whether or not to lie before the shrug came. Hannibal let out a long breath and continued to gently stroke through his hair. "Forget it then," he whispered, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice as his own arousal ebbed. "I'll get you some meds and you can sleep, you'll feel better tomorrow."

 

For a moment, Face was still, then he shook his head, trying to pull away from Hannibal's grasp. "No," he whispered, "I'm fine, John, come back here..."

 

“Face, no, kid...”

 

“John, come on, I’ve missed you,” and this time Hannibal frowned.

 

“Face,” his voice was louder now, harsher, and Face stopped, his own eyes narrowing at the change of tone and Hannibal sighed again making a huge effort to get himself back under control. “You’re obviously not in the mood,” he said noting with dismay the way that Face flinched at his words. “We’ll leave it.”

 

Face pushed himself up onto one arm and did a sterling job of almost hiding the pain it caused him. “I’m fine,” he ground out. “I don’t think _you_ are the best person to judge what kind of mood I’m in, Hannibal.” 

 

“Really?” And just like that, Hannibal could feel that little spark of annoyance lighting inside his chest all over again and absently wondered how Face was able to do this so damn easily to him. “But you are?” And abruptly, he’d just had enough. “The person who refused medical attention and a legal rep, and did your god-damned best to look as guilty as you possibly could just because you were sulking over the way an op turned out?!”

 

Face’s eyes ran cold-blue. “That’s not what happened.”

 

“It is,” Hannibal swung his legs out of the bed and stood up, glaring down at the most precious and infuriating thing in his life. “You gave up on yourself Face, you gave up on the Rangers and more to the point you gave up on _me_.” They stared at each other and Hannibal shook his head. “It’s like you _want_ them to find you guilty,” he blurted, “like if they _do_ throw you in the brig, toss you outta the Rangers, then you’ll have an excuse for not trying anymore, someone to blame for your failings. And then you can sit alone all day in some crumby cell and never, _ever_ have to face up to the things that you should have done better!”

 

Face looked like he’d been struck, his face behind all the bruising drained of colour and he stared up at Hannibal. “You said I did a good job!” he retorted.

 

“You did!” Hannibal shot back, his hands in fists at his sides. “But you made mistakes, Face! That’s what we do, that’s what everyone does! But what you _can’t_ do is crawl away and hide _because_ of those mistakes!” Hannibal’s voice was rising in volume with every word, the anger and fear he’d felt at how easily Face had accepted his fate bubbling out of him. “You need to man-up here! You need to accept you did some things wrong and learn for the next time! You need to fight and not just roll over! And while you’re at it, accept that you’ll never be perfect and nobody ever is! For God’s sake Face, you just need to grow up a bit!”

 

That last sentence had Face scrambling up and out of the duvet, his eyes angry narrow slits and they faced off over the bed, preparing for a battle, but just at that moment there was a tentative knock at the door. Face didn’t move, his fists clenched and his chest heaving, but Hannibal, forcing a calm into his voice answered, "Come in, Murdock," although his eyes never left Face's.  

 

“Hey, muchachos,” Murdock drawled from the doorway, his arms full of bedding, his eyes flicking between his two team-mates. “Guess what? Bosco’s already on a flight home.”

 

That broke through Face and Hannibal’s simmering anger and both sets of blue eyes snapped to Murdock. “He is?” Hannibal said. “Well, that’s great, but I’m surprised he’s fit to travel so soon.”

 

Shrugging, Murdock walked past the stand-off around the bed and dumped his armful of pillows and duvets on the carpet next to Face’s feet. “I told him what was happening with Face and he was mighty pissed, said he was gonna come straight back and put those bozos right about what really happened out there.” Face seemed to sag at those words and crawled back into bed without a sound, pulling the duvet up over his head and turning his back to Hannibal.

 

For a second the other two men carefully watched the unmoving mound of covers before Murdock flicked his eyes over to Hannibal. “Can I bunk in here with you two, sir?” he asked brightly. “I find it hard to sleep without that big ugly brute snoring away in the same room as me.”

 

The last of Hannibal’s anger left him and suddenly reminded him how absolutely bone-achingly exhausted he was and how he’d managed to achieve nothing with Face except piss him off. “Of course, son,” he said kicking the door shut as he climbed into bed. “Why don’t you sleep on the couch?” He nodded at the long couch under the window that was always covered in about five layers of Face’s clothes.

 

“Nah,” Murdock said, finishing the arrangement of bedding on the floor, “I’m fine here thanks, it’s like camping and I love camping!”

 

Hannibal couldn’t suppress a smile at that as he reached up to flick the light switch and the room was plunged into darkness.

 

“’Night, Colonel! ‘Night, Face!” Again Murdock’s chipper voice rang out in the night.

 

“’Night, Murdock.”

 

No one commented on Face’s silence, but Hannibal breathed a little easier when the warm body next to his didn’t pull away when he edged close and spooned up. And with that little crumb of comfort soothing him, Hannibal fell straight to sleep.

 

_________________________

 

Hannibal’s sleep was so thick and complete that it felt like nothing more than a few seconds had gone by when the sound of the doorbell wrenched him awake. He blinked in confusion around the sun-filled room, taking in the empty nest of covers on the floor and the still-sleeping Face next to him, then hauled his legs out of bed as he heard Murdock greeting their guests down-stairs.

 

__________________________

 

Face was awake long before he opened his eyes, unwilling to let what he knew was going to be a tough day, officially get underway. When he did finally crack open his bruised and sore eyelids, he wished he hadn’t, the duvet had fallen off, draping itself over what was left of Murdock’s nest and high-lighting the vast emptiness of the bed without Hannibal. Adding to that, the mess his bruised and battered body was in and he really felt like just crawling back under the sheets and hiding out for the rest of the day, and if it hadn’t been for Hannibal’s sharp words from the night before still circling his head like vultures, then he would have done.

 

He hauled his stiff and aching body out of bed and visited the en-suite, keeping his eyes carefully averted from the mirror, before stoically made his way down the stairs, determined to face his fate sooner rather than later. Voices from the den caught his attention and he made his way quietly to the door, wondering if he should have worn something other than his old and faded sleep shorts.

 

“Here he is!” the door opened just as Face approached it and he found himself face to face with a loud and fully uniformed Morrison. “We wondered when you would be getting up, son, I was just coming to fetch you, can’t have you sleeping the day away!” His eyes left Face’s and slowly edged down his naked torso, leaving uncomfortable goose-bumps in their wake and making Face wish he _had_ put some more clothes on before coming down. Morrison whistled through his teeth as he draped an arm over Face’s shoulders, leading him into the room, “Taken a bit of a beating there haven’t you?” he shook his head, “You need to learn to take better care of yourself.” The arm slid off, allowing a hand to trail right down his back until it lingered on the waistband of his shorts. Face knew that the movement was shielded from most of the men in the room, but his eyes zeroed straight in on Hannibal who was leaning against the window sill in an old set of PT sweats, his arms folded and his expression stony enough that Face knew he’d seen it all.

 

“I will, sir,” Face murmured as he surreptitiously moved away from the trailing fingers and went to perch on the sill, as close to Hannibal as he dared.

 

The room fell silent and Face quickly scanned the occupants, his heart rate kicking up a little with every new face he registered. Morrison had lowered himself down onto one end of the old saggy leather sofa, while Major Birkbeck was sat at the other, a pile of official looking documents on his knee. In one of the two wing-backed chairs was Major Jock McInnerny, looking just about as sour as he had every other time Face had seen him, and in the other was Carlton Jackson, perched on the edge and utterly terrified to be there, staring at the marks on Face’s body with a mixture of awe and fear. At the far side of the room, standing against the wall with an inscrutable expression and ridiculous mirrored sunglasses was a man in a dark suit who couldn’t have looked more CIA if he tried.

 

“Lieutenant?” Morrison’s bark had Face pulled straight out of his considering and snapping to attention bringing a quick huff of amusement from the General’s lips.

 

“Sir?”

 

“At ease, soldier.” Face stood down and risked a quick glance at Hannibal, although his stoic expression told him nothing. “Seems like you’ve created quite a stir on your latest trip out, Face, you need to be careful not to make it into a habit.” Face remained silent, not sure how he was supposed to reply to that at all and the General just laughed. “Anyway, you are very honoured as Agent _Jones_ here who is a CMO with the CIA, up in DC,” Morrison was obviously trying to hold back a smirk at his own words, “has come down here in the full _daylight_ and everything to update us on the situation with your buddy Markl.”

 

All eyes turned to Jones, who if he was at all offended by Morrison’s off-hand manner, he certainly didn’t show it. Instead he just swivelled his sunglasses in Face’s direction, still lounging up against the pine-clad wall. “Latest intel from the Yemen tells us that Markl’s breathing days were limited,” he reported flatly. “The Yemeni administration had lost patience with the man and they were not about to risk him falling into US hands again,” he adjusted his glasses, allowing the drama of the moment to build. “Seems that little ride in the Apache they had planned for him, was a one way ticket to the desert, without a parachute.”

 

Silence fell, broken only by Morrison’s annoyed huff. “What our agency friend is trying, so ridiculously, to tell you is that you made the right call there, son. You let Markl get into that Apache, he’d have been dead within the hour and all that lovely intelligence would have been lost to us forever. Good work, soldier.”        

 

Despite himself, Face flushed. “Thank you, sir,” then he turned his eyes to Birkbeck, “Believe I wasn’t trying to sell him to the highest bidder now?” he asked quietly.

 

“Face,” Hannibal hissed, “watch your mouth!” but his protests were drowned out by Morrison’s laughter.

 

“It would seem so,” Birkbeck answered coolly once the General’s mirth had died down, “but it would have made everyone’s lives a bit easier if you had followed protocol and told your superiors of your plans.”

 

“And where would be the fun in that?” Morrison retorted. “The boy’s got flair, Grant, it’s why he’s in the field and you’re not.”

 

“It’s why he’s in the shit,” Birkbeck countered under his breath.

 

“Oh, but he’s not though is he?” this was McInnerny, and Face flicked his gaze onto the sour faced Judge advocate with interest. “Not since your little chat with Sergeant Carlton, right Grant?”

 

This time Birkbeck sighed. “It would seem so, yes,” he grudgingly accepted.

 

Face let his eyes jump from one face to the next, but no one it seemed had anything else to offer, Hannibal was still scowling over his folded arms while Morrison seemed mildly amused by Face’s growing unease. “Is someone going to tell me what the hell’s going on?” he eventually demanded.

 

At first no one spoke until Hannibal’s quiet voice sounded from beside him. “Jackson?”

 

“I filmed you, sir!” Carlton blurted from his perch on the edge of the seat and Face frowned.

 

“What?”

 

“I filmed you!” Carlton repeated. “When Colonel Smith and I were up on the bluff watching you and Captain Harker on the cliff, sir. I don’t know why I did it, but I had some of those field glasses that stream to hard drive and I just filmed it, sir. Filmed the whole thing.”

 

“We saw him fall,” McInnerny added, his eyes boring into Face’s. “We saw you try to save him, and we saw him fall,” there was a beat of silence. “It would have made life so much easier on us all if you’d just told us what happened up there, Lieutenant, instead of playing hard to get.”

 

Face opened his mouth to reply to that but Hannibal was there before him, rising to his feet and taking hold of Face’s bicep in a firm grip. “Thank you, Jock,” he said, nodding at his friend, “and you, Jackson, for making this so much easier to clear up.”

 

The two men nodded in reply and all around the room people started standing and gathering their belongings. “So, that’s it?” Face asked in confusion. “Just like that? I’m in the clear?”

 

There was an awkward silence at that, and the tightening of Hannibal’s hand on his arm had his heart starting up again; he watched the look that flew between Hannibal and Morrison with trepidation.

 

“Maybe we should have a little turn around the yard, hey, son?” Morrison asked him and Hannibal’s hand tightened further at the, “Alone,” that was added on the end.

 

___________________________

 

Hannibal wanted a shower, but he sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere while Morrison and Face were out in the back yard, Face’s beaten but still oh-so-beautiful body out on display for all to see whilst he stood barefoot in the grass, listening in silence to the General’s words.      

 

Everyone else had gone, even Agent Jones, with a broad smile and a high five for Murdock, along with a promise to catch up later on that had Hannibal intrigued. He stowed that little nugget of fact away for later and promised himself he’d ask the pilot how he knew the agent once they had a little time. Shortly after that, however, Murdock went, whistling away to himself as he tossed the car keys in his hand, off to collect BA from the base.

 

Lurking in the shadows of the kitchen, Hannibal watched Morrison eventually leave and waited until he’d heard the retreating car engine before he went outside, slowly walking to where Face sat on the picnic bench in the sun, back to the house, head in his hands.

 

His heart tightened at the sight and he approached quietly, sitting next to the hunched figure, resting a hand on a bruised and scraped back with a gentle, “Kid?” announcing his presence.

 

Face looked up and his eyes were bright above the flat smile he wore. “Boss,” he greeted. “You know don’t you?”

 

Hannibal sighed, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep his emotions from his face back in the den, but in truth he knew nothing for sure. “Russ didn’t tell me everything, kid, no. He couldn’t in front of the others.”

 

Sitting up a little at that, Face winced as his torn muscles protested and he fixed his gaze on the gnarled little cherry tree at the end of the garden as he spoke. “General Harker’s not happy,” he said. “As much as he now accepts I didn’t kill his boy in cold blood, he still holds me responsible, I was commanding officer, the buck stops with me.”

 

Hannibal frowned, that was true, but only to a certain extent. “Face... the guy went rogue, tried to kill both you and BA, how the hell can his death be your fault?”

 

A mirthless laugh met his words. “General Harker reckons that if I’d been a ‘more experienced’ officer then Harker wouldn’t have felt the need to go solo on us, he says Ged genuinely thought I was taking a bung to get rid of Markl.”

 

“Bullshit!” Hannibal spat, “Surely Russ doesn’t believe all that?”

 

Shaking his head, Face’s eyes dropped to the spiky grass between his bare toes. “Course not, the General’s not stupid,” he took a deep breath, “Which means he also knows just how influential General Harker can be.”

 

“The man’s retired!”

 

Face looked up, his eyes sombre, “The man’s got his hands in every pie going, boss. He could ruin me whenever he wanted, find enough dirt to get me thrown out whenever he liked.”

 

The silence was heavy as they looked at each other, Hannibal’s eyes cold, hard lines. “He wouldn’t dare,” he whispered, “I’d never let him get away with it.”

 

But Face just laughed, that flat, empty laugh. “He’s untouchable, boss,” he said sadly. “You know that just as well as I do. But it’s okay, he doesn’t want me ruined, he just wants me pegged back.”

 

If at all possible Hannibal’s eyes narrowed even further. “Meaning?” he asked darkly.

 

“No more leading teams, no promotions, no preferential treatment,” he shrugged. “He wants me to stay right where I am until the day I die. Pretty neat, huh?”

 

But Hannibal shook his head, “And Russ agreed to that? He doesn’t have that right...”

 

“No,” Face’s expression was sombre, “ _I_ agreed to it.”

 

For a moment the only sound was the bird song from the trees as the two men studied each other. “Why would you do a thing like that?” Hannibal eventually asked and Face laughed his empty laugh again.

 

“Because we won’t come out of that fight unscathed and I don’t want that for you? Because I think Harker has a point? Because I don’t have the balls to say no?” Hannibal shook his head at Face’s words. “Because,” they locked eyes as Face’s voice dropped, “because it’s all I’ve ever wanted anyway, to stay at your side, be with you, be your second, live with you, work with you, protect you in every way I can... You know that John, you know I don’t want to move on without you.”

 

Hannibal sighed and looked at him, trying to figure him out. “If that’s true, then why the long face?”

 

Again Face laughed. “I know! I’m a contrary bastard aren’t I? I guess I just don’t like being told what to do.”

 

Shaking his head, Hannibal reached out to smooth away a wayward lock of hair. “So... Russ is leaving you with me?”

 

Face’s eyes snapped up at that, the concern etched right into their blue. “Fuck, yes,” he breathed. “And if he wasn’t I’d be resigning my commission.”

 

Silence fell as they looked at each other, Hannibal’s thumb now stroking over a little patch of unblemished skin over Face’s cheekbone. “If Harker ever makes a move against you, kid...” he whispered. “God help him when I get hold of him...”

 

Smiling a thin, watery smile, Face lifted his hand and placed it over Hannibal’s. “As much as I enjoy being your virgin on the tracks, Hannibal, I can protect myself from the moustache twirling villain you know.”

 

Hannibal echoed his smile. “I know.”

 

“But we’ll leave it though, yes?” and suddenly his eyes looked far too serious. “The General says that as long as I keep my head down, he’ll soon get bored and forget about me. Get caught up in his golf and his Masonic duties.”

 

Hannibal shook his head, “Doesn’t seem right though,” he said quietly. “Feels like he’s blackmailing us.”

 

Face smiled again, but this time it seemed to have some real warmth to it. “But it means I get to stay with you. I get what I want,” he shrugged and his voice dropped an octave. “And I like it when you say, ‘us’ like that...”  

 

“Of course it’s an ‘us’,” Hannibal said simply. “We’re a team, kid, you know that.”

 

There was no answer from Face at that, but he shifted a little closer along the bench and let his head rest on Hannibal’s shoulder with something that could have been a sigh of relief and they sat there in silence together, Hannibal’s hand resting on Face’s back, just lightly, right on the point where Morrison’s had been before, wiping his boy clean again.

 

As far as he was concerned, this matter between him and Face was closed now. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief to know that the kid would be staying close to him for the foreseeable future, these last two ops, being apart, being tested as harshly as they had been – well, they had been less than fun and had probably taken years off his life. Now they could go back to how things had been before Russia, let that team spirit take root and hopefully grow. He could concentrate on forging some kind of bond between Face and BA, he could continue to help Murdock find his feet in reality, and most importantly, he could have Face right where he needed him, right at his side.

 

But privately, this matter was not dead - far from it. He was not going to let General Harker get away with this treatment of his boy; if Morrison didn’t have the balls to stand up to the sanctimonious old goat, then Hannibal would handle it his own way. There was more than one way to skin a rabbit, his grandfather had always told him, and he fully intended to give Harker enough to worry about that he would forget that Face had ever been born. The kid had already had more than enough trouble from the  higher ranks before Hannibal had ever met him, he certainly was not about to let that pattern start anew.

 

Next to him, Face stirred, drawing him from his plans for justice and bringing him back to the more important matters at hand. He smoothed his hand gently over the scrapes on Face’s back then looked over as the younger man rose, gritting his teeth against pain and stiffness and swinging his leg over Hannibal’s so they were sat facing each other, chests crushed together, Face’s arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, his face in the crook of a neck. Hannibal took in a huge breath of that wonderfully familiar smell and wound his own arms around Face’s back, pulling him in close, so close that their groins were nestled up together.

 

Here they stayed, relishing the closeness and the warmth of each other, before Face started tipping his hips, ever so slightly, pressing a noticeable hard-on into Hannibal’s own. “I missed you, boss...” was all he whispered.

 

It was enough for Hannibal though. That desperate thrumming in his veins was still there and he wanted that reconnection right the fuck now. He forced himself to stay in the moment though, tipped his hips up to meet Face’s own thrusts and tried to figure out the best way they could do this so that Face wouldn’t end up in more pain.

 

Face, however, had his own plan. Lifting up a little so that he could claim Hannibal’s mouth with his own, Hannibal was aware of shifting and shuffling and then quick hands pushing the waistband of his sweats down and just as the cool morning air hit his hot column of flesh, Face lifted up and sunk back down, the skin of his buttocks dragging beautifully over the drooling head of Hannibal’s cock.       

 

“Jesus, kid!” Hannibal exclaimed, hands flying to Face’s hips and holding him up. “I’m not taking you dry, and we can’t do this here!”

 

Face leaned back and his eyes were blown, hardly any blue left at all and it was clear that he was just as desperate for this as Hannibal himself. “Why the hell not?” he whispered, stretching to nuzzle at _that spot_ just behind Hannibal’s ear, “It’s not like we’ve never done it before...”

 

Hannibal wasn’t sure if he meant the garden or the dry, both of which were true, but he sure as hell was not going to add to the pain the boy was in right now. “Hold still,” he growled and reached into the pocket of his sweats, pulling out the little bottle of lube he’d stashed there the last time he’d worn them and unscrewing it with one shaking hand.

 

“Oh, boss,” Face breathed against the wet skin of his neck. “I love that you’ve come prepared, one day I must thank Lord Baden Powell for all this...”

 

After that there was very little talking indeed, not unless you counted the moans that Face made while Hannibal slowly and thoroughly opened him up, or the grunts from Hannibal as he tried not to shoot his load well, _well_ before time. Eventually though, Face decided he was ready, and after swatting Hannibal’s slick fingers away from his ass he stood up again, held Hannibal’s heated stare as he positioned the head of his desperate cock in just the right place, then he sank down, so, so slowly filling himself up on the heat of his mate.

 

“Oh, Temp,” Hannibal breathed, resisting the urge to shove up into the welcoming channel. “I love you.” Face smiled, but Hannibal noticed him blinking away the brightness in his eyes and reached out to smooth over the skin of his back. “So much,” he added then cried out as Face suddenly dropped the last inch, bottoming out and then returning to cling to Hannibal, face in his neck.

 

They stayed locked together, rocking and tipping, trails of eager pre-cum being smeared all over Hannibal’s stomach before the heat started rising too much for them to stand. Locking his hands behind Hannibal’s neck, Face struggled to his feet and started riding his boss hard, his head thrown back and his teeth gritted. Hannibal moaned out loud, his own hips rising up off the bench as he met every bounce that Face made, but in less than a minute, Face made a noise that sounded a little too much like pain to Hannibal’s ears and landed back with a thud, shoving Hannibal right, right up inside him.

 

Instantly he gritted his teeth even harder and Hannibal could feel his fingers digging into the back of his neck as he struggled to get on his feet once more.

 

“Hey, hey, hey...” Hannibal soothed, taking hold of his hips and steadying him. “Take it easy, sweetheart, I’ve got this one.”

 

“No,” Face gasped, his eyes clenched shut in pain. “Let me. I want to ride you.”

 

“Oh, you will,” Hannibal’s voice was so low that Face felt it reverberating in his chest, “you will...” Then without waiting for an answer, he wrapped am arm around the small of Face’s back and pulled them close together, so close that Face’s cock was now crushed between two hard stomachs. “Hold on tight,” he whispered, and as Face’s arms snaked more snugly about his neck, he shuffled forward onto the balls of his feet and starting thrusting upwards into the warm body sat astride him.

 

It was incredible. Even though his thighs burned with the effort of bucking up and down with Face’s additional weight on top of him, the rewards were astronomical. They were so close together, so, _so_ close that he could hear every word that left Face’s lips with his breath, every single, “John!” and “Love you,” and, “All mine...” He could also hold him tightly, seal their chests together, Face’s cock between them, so firmly that he could almost believe they’d never be separated again. And then when he could tell Face was close, when the arms around his neck were so tight he could hardly breathe and the words in his ear were nothing more than whimpers and pleas, he could turn his head and leave his own words of love, coax his boy into a climax that was fuelled by nothing more than the deepest and most intense love.

 

Suddenly Face stiffened, his thighs clenching on Hannibal’s hips, his arms locked and Hannibal held him still while his own hips rocked as fast as he could, grazing backwards and forwards over Face’s prostate, telling his boy how wonderful he was, how beautiful, how loved. The sticky warmth that blossomed over his stomach came a second before the sharp contractions around his cock and as Face slumped in his arms, he surrendered himself to his own orgasm, holding Face down as he pushed up and shot his seed over and over into the waiting warmth.

 

__________

 

The roaring in Hannibal’s ears slowly faded away to be replaced by the muted sounds of birdsong in the trees around them. He kept his arms locked around tightly Face and waited until he felt him start to support his own weight again before he relaxed his hold and sat back. Face lifted at the same time and they both pulled away, the sticky sound and smell of semen hitting them as their wet skin peeled apart and Face’s softening cock slipped down to lie against his thigh.

 

Hannibal wasn’t interested in any of that though, all he cared about was the man in front of him and he reached a shaking arm up to stroke sweat soaked hair away from Face’s forehead, returning the smile he was offered.

 

“Wow,” Face breathed. “That was worth the wait.”

 

Hannibal laughed. “You’ll be the death of me Templeton Peck. What the hell is wrong with a nice soft bed every now and again?”

 

The smile on his lieutenant’s face only broadened. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” he whispered, wriggling closer as Hannibal’s deflating cock slipped a little inside him.

 

Hannibal could only agree and leant forward, resting his sweaty forehead on a sweaty neck and letting the breeze cool them down.  “I hope Russ doesn’t decide to pop back anytime soon,” he punctuated his sentence with a kiss pressed to the juncture of neck and shoulder and a quick burst of laughter met his words.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I would pay anything to see his face if we-” suddenly he stopped and Hannibal stiffened underneath him as the unmistakable sound of a car engine reached their ears. “Oh, fucking hell!” Face hissed, scrambling onto his feet even as Hannibal lifted him off his lap. There was a very undignified slurping sound and warm rush of escaping semen as they separated and Hannibal winced, opening his thighs to let most of the mess slide down onto the grass before he just pulled his sweats up over the rest. He got to his feet, staggering slightly as his left leg cramped and nearly died, seeing Face in front of him, buck naked on the lawn wiping at his stomach with handfuls of cherry tree leaves.

 

“For God’s sake, get dressed!” he hissed, throwing Face’s shorts at him as the car on the driveway cut its engine, but then he had to reach out and grab the kid’s arm to steady him as he lifted his legs, laughing too hard to keep his balance.

 

Even though it felt like hours, it was only seconds before they were decent and making their way to the side of the house. Face had a cherry leaf stuck to his fingers with congealing semen and stopped to rinse his hands under the outside tap as Hannibal frantically hurried him along. After drying off on the back of his shorts, they were done, and side by side, looking only slightly suspicious, they rounded the corner of the house and came face to face with BA’s van.

 

Face ground to a halt, Hannibal stopping just ahead of him as Murdock slid out of the driver’s seat, flashing them a smile and going around to pop the passenger door. Both men stared as Murdock reached in, only to be shoved away by a thick muscled arm and a growled comment of, “Get out the way, fool! Aint nothing wrong with my legs!” 

 

Hannibal laughed and stepped forward, reaching out to grab hold of the same arm and pull BA into a hug, carefully avoiding the crisp white sling that support his other limb. “BA!” he greeted, the joy in his words impossible to miss. “Good to see you, big man!”

 

Hands clasped, BA leaned into him. “Good to see you too, Hannibal,” he answered and he couldn’t quite hide all of the emotion in his voice. “Seems like I’m not needed any more though, yeah? You sorted Harker’s mess without me?”

 

Pulling back, Hannibal held his gaze. “You’re always needed in this team, Corporal, and don’t you forget that.”     

 

They held each other’s eyes, and BA nodded at the honesty he saw in Hannibal’s expression, then they both turned to Face. He was still standing at the corner of the house, watching the rest of his team with uncertainty clouding his eyes. BA pulled away from Hannibal and took a step closer to him, pausing as Murdock and Hannibal exchange a quick, nervous glance. But then he was on the move once more, closing the gap between them, as Face finally jumped into action himself and in three quick strides they met in a fierce hug.

 

Eyebrows raised, Hannibal turned to Murdock who just grinned as the quietly whispered words of the two men drifted their way.

 

“Thanks, Faceman, you saved my butt out there for sure.”

 

“And you, big guy. I was gone without you, couldn’t have held on for another minute...”

 

BA’s good hand pounded on Face’s back and Face’s arms tightened a little more as Hannibal looked on, surprised but more than a little relieved.

 

“Alrighty there colonel?” Murdock asked, sidling up to him and Hannibal tore his eyes away from the other half of his team. He nodded, not quite trusting his voice to answer and Murdock’s grin doubled in size. “I’m feeling a curry night coming our way this evening, what do you say?”

 

“Curry?” BA suddenly wrenched away from Face, leaving his arm draped across the other man’s bare shoulders while Face frantically blinked away the moisture from his eyes. “Hell, yes there’s gonna be curry! You gonna make me one of those Thai red lobster things? The food in that med unit was the pits!”

 

If at all possible, Murdock’s grin grew even wider. “Nope!” he announced triumphantly as he headed for the door. “I’m trying something new, coconut curry tapenade!”

 

“What?” BA answered, his brow creased into a frown, his arm slipping from Face’s shoulders. “Coconut curry tapenade? Are you crazy, fool? Who wants curried olives??? What’s wrong with the lobster thing?”

 

He made a grab for Murdock who nimbly skipped out of his reach before bolting into the house, his opening words of, “Now, BA!” being the only ones audible over BA’s roars of disapproval. Hannibal laughed and turned to Face, who was still standing on the driveway, pretending he had something in his eye and wearing his sleep shorts inside out. 

 

“Okay, kid?” Hannibal asked gently and Face flicked his eyes up.

 

“Perfect,” he breathed and smiled and Hannibal had to agree that right now, things were pretty damn close.

 


End file.
